


Two Weeks

by Gimmemocha



Series: Kas-berasala [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 08:43:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 62,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2725985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gimmemocha/pseuds/Gimmemocha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People are animals, says Iron Bull, and you can tame a woman like you'd tame a horse. Evelyn Trevelyan, leader of the Inquisition, doesn't believe him. Challenge accepted.</p><p>((Nota Bene: I disagree that there is infidelity in this work. The two characters are not in an established relationship and have not agreed to exclusivity. However, I also said that if people commented on it and let me know it was triggery, I'd tag it because I'm also not an asshole. The problematic act, for those who might want to read everything but that, occurs in Chapter 7/Day 7 and sort of again in Chapter 13/Day 12 in a more consensual fashion.))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

"That's disgusting!" Cullen's voice rang clear, echoing off the walls of the nearly deserted bar room.

Evelyn stopped, glancing in the window of the inn.

"You're just uptight. And repressed. It's a Ferelden thing," Iron Bull said. He rocked his chair backwards, mug of ale in his hands. All of his massive muscled weight was supported by two thin chair legs that creaked in terror.

Dorian toasted Bull with his own mug. "It's true," he agreed. "Fereldens are all closeted about something or other."

"I am not uptight," Cullen said. "But I know better than to treat a woman like some kind of … of hound!"

"I notice you don't have a woman at present," Bull said. "You might want to think twice before telling us all how much you know about them."

"He's got you there, Curly."

Evelyn gave in to her curiosity and opened the door. All eyes turned to her. Cullen flushed a bright red and covered his face with his hands, Dorian waved, Bull grinned, and Varric actually started laughing. Her eyebrows rose. "Do I want to know?" she asked.

"No!" Cullen said explosively.

"Pull up a chair, Inquisitor," Varric said. "Tiny here was just regaling us with tales of how to woo a woman."

"Or a man."

"Right, Dorian. Sorry. My mistake. Or a man."

She hesitated, her hand on the back of a chair to Bull's right. "Oh dear. I'm not certain I want to hear this."

"This is hardly an appropriate discussion to have in front of a lady," Cullen said, glaring at the large Qunari. "Maker's Breath, it's not even an appropriate one to have in a dockside whorehouse."

"Been to a lot of dockside whorehouses, have you?" Varric asked.

"I'm not that repressed," Cullen said. He rose and offered his arm to Evelyn. "Shall we go?"

Bull shook his great horned head. "You might want to hear this, Inquisitor. It's good, solid people handling."

Evelyn hesitated, looking at Bull's lazy grin, Varric's dancing eyes, Dorian's studious good cheer and Cullen's mounting fear. She shrugged apologetically and sat. "I'm sorry, Cullen, but I have to know."

"There are only three steps to mastering a lover," Bull said loudly, drowning out Cullen's protest. The legs of his chair slammed to the ground. He leaned close to Evelyn, his chin dipped slightly. He gaze met hers and held it. 

No one spoke.

Slowly, he smiled, baring just a hint of teeth. "Step one," he said, his voice low, intimate, rough. "Establish dominance early."

For no reason she could name, Evelyn felt her cheeks warm and her pulse flutter. Uncomfortable, she looked down, then away. Cullen was flat-out seething, jaw clenched tight enough to break teeth. Dorian contrived to look bored, though she could see the snap of his dark eyes moving between her and Bull. Varric was eyeing her with an avid sort of curiosity, though most of his expression was hidden behind a large metal tankard.

"Step two!" Bull proclaimed, sitting back.

"What?" she said, blinking. She frowned at Varric's rueful headshake. "That wasn't step one."

"Uh huh," the dwarf said, flipping a gold coin to Dorian who caught it in mid-air.

Bull continued. "Never let yourself be associated with anything but pleasure. And by pleasure, I mean—"

"We know what you mean!" Cullen interrupted.

"And step three?" Bull looked at Evelyn again, his smile slow and confident. "Take what's yours."

She had no intention of looking away this time, and arched a dark eyebrow at him. "That's it? That's the sum of your genius advice? Take it from a woman, gentlemen: He's an idiot."

Bull seemed unconcerned with her critique. "Eh, it's all in Step Two, really. There's a bit about mastering yourself before you can master someone else and all."

"He neglected to mention the part where you treat her like a dog," Cullen supplied.

"If anyone says you run her until she drops…"

"No no," Varric said. "It's much more complex than that."

"Exactly, Varric! Glad you were listening. You see, Inquisitor, people are animals. When you remember that fact and treat them like animals, they respond beautifully."

She eyed the giant Qunari. "All right," she said slowly, "explain that."

He flashed his grin again, this one tinged with a hint of triumph she didn't quite trust.

"Since our Commander here doesn't like the hound analogy, let's use horses."

"Blessed Andraste, let's not."

"Pipe down, kid, and listen to your betters. All right. Some women, you see, are like draft horses."

Both Evelyn's eyebrows crawled up her forehead. "They're like _what?_ "

"I tried to warn you," Cullen said.

"Draft horses," Bull continued. "They're basically good and sweet. A little gentleness, some kindness, a steady hand, that's all they need."

"A bucket of sweet feed," Varric said wryly.

"A good dinner never hurts," Bull agreed.

"Maker," Cullen groaned, dropping his head to the table with an audible thunk.

"And some women," Bull said, "are like those hot little desert breeds, all fire and snapping teeth and lashing out. You've got to be quick with those sorts, and being nice won't get you very far. You've got to be patient and firm, make it clear you won't put up with their shit. But you can't be cruel. One hint of anger or frustration, they'll bolt and you'll never catch them then."

Bull fell silent, looking at Evelyn.

Evelyn looked back, chewing her lower lip.

"Go ahead and ask," urged Varric.

"I have to ask," Evelyn said.

"You absolutely should ask," Dorian said.

"Please don't ask," said Cullen, voice muffled against the table.

"What sort am I, then?"

Bull's smile was lazy and feral. "Ah, well now you, Evelyn… You're one of your high-bred coursers; all long legs and arched neck and silken mane. You're too proud to come willingly to the bit and bridle. You have to be coaxed. Soothed. Caressed. You'll shake and sweat at the touch of leather, but once mastered, you'll give a man a ride that's second to none."

His finger stroked her jawline. She blinked a few times, trying to process when he had gotten so close. "You may let another man ride you," he murmured in his deep, husky bass, "but only one can ever master you, and for him, you will give everything, and answer to his slightest touch."

His touch paused under her chin. The pressure increased slightly, and she found herself leaning forward, following where he led.

"Two weeks," Bull said, rough and low. "In two weeks, I could teach you, train you, own every exquisite inch of you and you would love me for it."

Her eyelids grew heavy and fluttered, slowly closing. She heard his hum of pleasure, tasted his breath on her lips.

"Enough!"

Cullen's voice snapped her back to reality, back to the bar room and the people in it. Evelyn jerked away from Bull and to her feet. The chair toppled over behind her, the sound of its clatter the only one in the bar room. She drew in a ragged breath, glanced at the others without really seeing them, and walked out into the cold air of Skyhold's frigid night.

She stopped with the door shut behind her, one shaking hand rising to her chest to measure pulse and rapid breaths. Through the window she heard the sound of another chair being pushed back.

"I wouldn't, Commander," Bull said. "Never chase a spooked horse. You'll only make them run farther."

"I honestly cannot decide if that was impressive or terrifying," Dorian said slowly.

"Little of both," Bull conceded. "People are animals. They really don't like to be reminded of it, though."

"Two weeks, huh?" Varric asked.

"One, if I was in a hurry. But some things are worth the time."

Two weeks. Evelyn shuddered and walked toward the keep, trying not to run.


	2. Day Two

It was, Evelyn reflected, an odd realization that one could be the ostensible leader of an army and yet completely incapable of figuring out where her closest companions were bunked. She knew Cullen slept in the loft above his office, and Cassandra had taken quarters near the armory. Blackwall, she believed, slept above the stables of all things, and Vivienne, for some reason, liked it on the balcony overlooking the main hall.

But for most of them, she had no idea. And for Iron Bull in particular, just asking someone where his rooms were was plenty hazardous.

Her cheeks burned, remembering Krem's sad little headshake before he had told her where to find Bull. She had thought he'd be the safest person to approach, but it seemed everyone knew what had happened in the tavern. To say she wasn't happy about it was putting it mildly. She hadn't been happy about it even before Krem's knowing gaze. Now, she was positively livid.

She lifted a fist and hammered it against the wooden door.

The door opened. Bull's mild expression faded into a self-satisfied half-smile. "Inquisitor," he rumbled.

Evelyn jabbed a finger at him. "Don't," she snapped, then stalked past him.

He looked over his shoulder at her, then closed the door and turned. "All right," he agreed.

"I am up to my aristocratic neck in demons, crazed Templars, and rampaging mages right now," she said with a sharp gesture toward his window. "We're holding this inquisition together with promises, threats, and outright lies, just to try and keep the world from falling apart. A simply ridiculous amount of what's keeping people focused is that everyone, in a collective fit of idiocy, thinks I'm some sort of holy savior."

"Uh huh," he said, moving to the bed and stripping the armored gauntlets from his lower arms.

"I may not like that they do and I certainly don't agree with it, but it seems to be necessary for the moment. It commands respect and obedience, two things we desperately need to fight this war. So the last thing we need is you spreading tales about—" She sputtered to a halt, watching as he took off the half-shirt of mail he wore and hung it on a rack near the bed.

"About?" he prompted.

"Ab—About us!" she said, yanking her attention back to why she was here.

"Us?"

"There is no us!"

"I see. Then what is it I've been spreading tales about, again?"

She blew a sharp breath out her nose. "About the tavern!"

"The tavern."

"When you— When you said…" Her cheeks heated again. It only made her angrier. "You know perfectly well what you said!"

He leaned one absurdly broad shoulder against the bedpost. "I do know. And I meant it. Trouble is, I haven't said a word about it."

She frowned sharply. "But you… Cullen wouldn't have…"

"No, I don't think Cullen would have either," he said, shaking his head a little. "He's probably still trying to figure out how to ease out of his smallclothes while denying that he found the whole thing incredibly hot. But Varric? Or Dorian? Now, those two aren't exactly known for having the tightest lips in the inquisition." He smiled at her and pushed off the bed, taking a step toward her. "But you didn't go to them. You came here. To me."

His room really was rather small. He had barely taken two steps yet here he was, almost touching her. Looming over her. She blinked at his bare chest, struggled to hang on to her anger, and looked up at him. 

"I admit, it did make a good excuse," he said. "I'll bet even you still think that's why you came."

"Do not play games with me right now, Bull. I am furious with you."

"Are you now? Let's see." He lifted a hand and set it against the side of her neck. His calloused palm stretched from the hollow at the center of her throat to near her earlobe. His fingers wrapped around to the nape of her neck.

Just that. No more. He just rested it there. Shudders of sensation twitched down her back, and her breath caught for half a second before resuming with a tiny gasp.

"Pulse is elevated. I suppose that could be anger," he said. His gaze dropped to her chest. "Breathing quick. Exertion, but also possibly anger. Ah, but here…"

His hand was large enough that he didn't have to move it to stroke a thumb over her lips. "Soft," he said in a warm murmur. "Parted just a little, just enough, asking to be used. And your eyes are so wide. Full of questions and begging me for answers.

"Do you want answers, Evelyn?"

Her head felt blurred, muzzy. Only her lips seemed real, his touch sharp and vivid. She'd have been swaying were it not for his hand on her waist, though she didn't remember him putting it there. "I… I don't…"

He nodded when she trailed off into silence. "It's all right," he said. "I do."

His hands pulled her with him as he backed toward the bed. Her pulse danced in her veins, but he only sat on the edge of the bed, positioning her in front of him. Then his hands fell away and he looked her over. 

Evelyn fought not to shiver or shift away. She was fully clothed, but had never felt more exposed in her life. "This isn't what I came here for, you know," she said. She reached out, brushed her fingertips along his jaw to feel bristle of his scruff.

"Yes, it is," he replied. He captured her hand in his, turned it over to kiss the inside of her wrist. Carefully, deliberately, he put her hand back at her side. His expression was serious, thoughtful. Then he reached up to the leather strip that held her hair up and away from her face, tugged it free and set it next to his armor. 

Some of her hair slid forward, some of it ruffled down to her shoulders. He lifted his other hand, ran both through her hair, combing it through his fingers. Strands snagged on his skin and pulled free again.

He nodded, just a small motion, but she felt hyperaware of everything he did, every motion he made no matter how infinitesimal. 

When he set his hands at her waist again, she closed her eyes.

"Open," he said quietly.

After a moment, she was able to blink them, then open them. She looked down at him. 

"Good," he said.

He ran his hands down her sides and took a breath, held it, released it slowly. She watched the muscles across his shoulders bunch and relax. "All right," he murmured.

His fingers were steady as they worked the small golden hooks holding her shirt closed. The double tabs of filigree parted. She rolled her shoulders to help him slide the shirt off her back. He paused to fold it and set it on the bed next to him, a care she was in no mood to appreciate at the moment.

Next was the soft leather band she wore to lightly bind her breasts. It started in front, crossed over to her back, then came back around to twist over itself and knot in the front, the ends tucked under. She started to lift her hands to undo the contraption, but he stopped her again. 

Evelyn did not have feminine, tiny wrists. She was a child of the Free Marches; she had been studying weapons since she could hold one. Though her skills were better suited to the speed and precision of two blades rather than one heavier one, her wrists were strong, corded, solid. 

Bull's fingers encircled her wrists easily and held them as though they were delicate, fragile as bird bones. He pulled her arms down yet again, guiding them to her sides. She hesitated, then left them there.

He rewarded her by leaning in, kissing the curve of her stomach just below the notch of her ribcage. His tongue touched her skin, brushing a hot lick of pleasure beneath the prickle of his beard. Her muscles clenched and she drew in a sharp hiss of breath. Looking down at him, she could see the thin smile on his lips as he sat up.

He didn't look up at her, though. Instead, he focused on the wrap. He was careful as he untied it, despite her wishes. His hands never accidentally brushed her breasts or teased over her nipples. Pinpricks of anticipatory sensation danced across her nerves and went unsatisfied, leaving her aching.

After he untwisted the wrap, he grasped one end and pulled, slowly sliding it from her body. The leather stroking across her breasts fired against senses hungry for contact, and she sighed. One of his hands slid to the small of her back, helping her steady herself.

"Open," he said again.

It took her a moment to realize her eyes were closed. She forced them open and focused on him.

Still, he wasn't looking at her. Instead he was studying the wide length of leather. He held it up and cocked his head to one side. What he was pondering, she couldn't say, but some part of her knew enough to quiver.

Finally, though, he set that aside too, laying it across her shirt. Only then did he turn and look at her breasts.

He didn't move.

Shivers chased each other across her body. Some of it was the cold. No room in Skyhold's stone halls was well-heated, and Bull's was no exception. But most of it was him. He didn't react, didn't growl or grab or even touch her save for his hand still on her back. He just looked.

She tried to wait him out, but the silence wore on her. Finally, just as she was drawing in a breath to speak, he rose. His muscles tightened as she tried to back away, trapping her against him as his bare chest slid against hers. She had been looking down at him for long enough that she had actually forgotten how tall he was.

Now she looked up at him, her neck tilted to an almost painful angle. There was no small satisfaction in finally getting a good look at his expression. Though his movements had all been controlled and deliberate, she could see the tension in his jaw, in the glitter in his eye. The cords of his neck stood out from the effort he was putting into maintaining the gentleness of his hold on her, and she felt her lips curve upward at the corners.

He took her elbows in the palms of his hands and raised her arms.

Confused, she did not fight him, but also let him move her hands then to the back of her head. He set one of her hands over the other. "Twine your fingers," he said, soft, quiet, as he'd said everything so far.

She obeyed, brow furrowed.

He gave a small grunt of satisfaction, then sat back down.

With the warmth of his body withdrawn, she shivered again. Gooseflesh rippled down her arms.

Bull lifted just one finger, trailing it down the skin between her breasts. "Sorry about the cold," he said. "Next time, I'll have the fire built up. I forget how soft you humans are."

Next time. That was where her brain stopped. Next time. He assumed there'd be a next time. Part of her balked at the assumption. She opened her mouth to object.

His lips closed over the hardened nipple of her right breast, and his tongue, hot and slick, drew a quick circle around it.

She cried out and her hands dropped, landing on his shoulders and clenching.

Instantly, his mouth withdrew.

"No," was her soft protest.

He said nothing, but rose again. This time he held only her hands, placing them gently on the back of her head again. "Fingers," he said.

She stared at him.

His expression was distant, cool. He waited.

Her brain tried to work, failed, then kicked to life. With equal parts suspicion and desire, she slowly laced her fingers together at the back of her head.

Bull sat again and took a moment. Then his head dropped to her breast, and his lips brushed over her nipple again, drawing it in. His mouth felt blazing hot to her sensitive skin, so cold from its recent wet exposure to the air, and for a moment she forgot her suspicions.

One of his hands had resumed its protective clasp on her lower back. The other one now stroked her left breast, cupped its weight gently. His blunt, broad fingers teased the nipple there, both sensations swamping her with greedy, hungry pleasure.

Her hands fell to his head.

This time when he stopped, she growled in frustration. He had no hair for her to knot her hands in but that didn't stop her from digging her fingers into his flesh.

This time he didn't stand. His arms flexed and he pulled her onto his lap. "Shh," he murmured, turning his kisses to her jaw. "Easy."

She twisted her head around to meet his kiss, and he let her. Her lips demanded, his soothed. Her kiss was hungry and fierce. His was deep and slow.

She twined her arms behind his head and shifted her hips in his lap as the kiss went on. His rough stubble scratched her cheeks, but the longer whiskers of his beard tickled her skin enough to make the contrast pleasurable. His hands slid down her back from shoulder to the waistband of her pants, then started again from the top of her spine and down, over and over.

Gradually, the flare of angry need settled under his coaxing and the heat of her kiss matched the tempered fire of his.

Gently, he set her back on her feet, steadying her as he forced her lips from his. He looked up at her, at the haze of hunger in her eyes. His hands rose to her arms and nudged them upward. Without thinking, she clasped her hands behind her head.

His low rumble of satisfaction purred through her from where his mouth rested against her breast, pulling a soft sigh from her lips. She laced her fingers tighter to help her keep her balance, swaying against his hand again splayed across her back.

The realization of what she'd done hit her like a slap to the face. All the languor left her body, her thoughts flicking back over their encounter so far, over his words at the tavern. Slowly, she unclasped her fingers but left her arms up. Just to see. Just to know.

The moment her muscles shifted, he lifted his mouth from her breast.

He had felt it.

That's why his hand had been on her back.

He stood again, the length of his body measured hot and broad against hers, and stared down at her, pinning her against him, not letting her back away.

This time when she looked up, it wasn't through a haze of hunger. She searched his expression carefully.

He let her, waiting, silent.

Training, he had said. She realized that was not a metaphor, not just talk. He had meant exactly that. He was training her, like a huntsman trained a dog. Like a man might train a horse. Rewards for good behavior. A cessation of all activity when the good behavior faltered. No pain for punishment, the way a lesser man might have gone about it. Step Two, he had called it. Never let yourself be associated with anything but pleasure.

An instant before she could jerk away, her muscles tensing to do so, he reached up to her hands and pulled them apart, letting them fall to her side. Ignoring her shocked expression entirely, he turned and picked up her shirt.

Still reeling from her newfound understanding, Evelyn didn't resist as he slid her arms into the shirt, though he didn't attempt to rewind her binding. Instead, he fastened the hooks exactly as he had unfastened them, with the same easy deliberation. Then he folded her breast wrap and handed it to her, nudging into her slack hand.

Her fingers closed automatically over the fabric.

With no last kiss, no final caress, he guided her to the door of his suite and gently escorted her outside. "Tomorrow," he said.

The door shut behind her.


	3. Day Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Time to up the rating to Explicit, I think. And here are your first hints that this is more than just Plot What Plot. Cue ominous music!)

"Maker's ass, Leliana, someone out there must know where to find them! I've been sitting in this frozen pile of rubble for three days now, waiting for anyone who's seen a horde of Templars with glowing red rocks sticking out of their bodies. How stealthy can they be?"

"My agents are searching everywhere, Inquisitor…"

"Then maybe it's time you stopped perching in this crow's nest of yours and got out there yourself, if the people you've hired are so incompetent!"

Only cawing broke the silence that echoed through the stone tower, Leliana's messenger birds sounding their obnoxious cries, oblivious to the tension. Even Helsima, the Tranquil mage researcher, was staring at the two of them.

"Of course, Inquisitor," Leliana said stiffly. "I shall go at once." She inclined her head a bit.

Evelyn sighed. "No, wait. I'm sorry, Leliana. Of course you must be here, and I trust that your people are doing all they can." She raised a hand to rub her forehead. "I'm so sorry."

Hesitantly, the Inquisition's spymaster set a slender hand on Evelyn's arm. "We are all under tremendous strain," she said, "and you more than most. Waiting is difficult, I know."

"So I should find something constructive to do," Evelyn said. "Maybe I'll go find Cassandra. She's always in the mood to slap me around on the practice grounds."

And frankly, wearing herself out sounded like a good idea. Sleeping hadn't been easy the night before. She had felt unsettled, had found herself staring at the fabric hangings on her bed, thinking nothing in particular. Just unable to sleep.

Just remembering.

Just wondering.

She turned away from the concern in Leliana's eyes. If only she could have gone into the field, some of this tension would ease. Surely away from Iron Bull, with fighting to do and people to influence, she would see this was all a colossal waste of time and it would be put into perspective.

An all-too-familiar roar caught her attention. She glanced over toward a balcony, doors kept open for the comings and goings of the birds. Without clear memory of wanting to step out, Evelyn found herself on the balcony, looking down at the courtyard.

Her perch left her perfectly positioned to see the Chargers in their workout. Between their ranks stalked Iron Bull, double-headed axe slung casually over one broad shoulder, chest flexing as he bellowed out orders.

Her headache faded. The rest of the courtyard fell back to obscurity, and all she could hear was the hammering of her own pulse in her ears.

Bull paused partway into a turn. His head angled up toward the tower. He knew, somehow he knew, and he saw her. The upper half of his body pivoted slightly toward her, pulling the hard planes of muscles in his chest into sharp relief. He didn't speak. Didn't gesture. Didn't move.

Her fingers clenched on the railing, nails scraping painfully across the stone. Her stomach bumped against it as she leaned toward him. He was a statue of muscle and heat, separated from her by only thin, cold air. For one moment, she thought she could smell his scent, taste his mouth against her tongue—

"Inquisitor?"

Evelyn yanked backwards, startled. When she glanced back down, Bull had resumed drilling his troops, barking out the steps of a warrior's dance that could save their lives.

"Cullen," she identified after a moment, raising a hand to her chest as if to hold her heart beneath her ribcage. "You startled me."

He chuckled. "Sorry. You did seem rather lost in thought."

"Something like that," she said, managing a smile.

He leaned against the balcony next to her. "I thought maybe you needed to talk."

"Talk?"

"About… anything."

She frowned, then sighed. "Oh. The bit with Leliana before."

He grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. "It was rather loud."

"And you drew the short straw?"

"Well, it was more a matter of me being the only one in full armor at the moment."

She laughed a little.

"The thing is, Inquisitor…. We know you've no family here. The ones of us you've known the longest were the ones who had you in chains initially. I think… I think sometimes you must be very lonely."

Evelyn blinked and looked over at the commander of her armies. He wasn't looking back.

"Are you flirting with me, Cullen?"

"What?! Maker, no!" He gaped at her, then scowled as she laughed. "Oh very funny, pick on the Ferelden."

"I'm sorry," she said with something that sounded remarkably like a giggle. "You were just so solemn about it."

"I only meant to say that maybe you need a friend. Someone to talk to from time to time."

She sighed a little and turned back to watch people moving through the courtyard. Her people, most would say, but she didn't know more than a handful of them and none of them well. She found her gaze drifting back to Bull, watching as he took a shield from Krem and demonstrated a block and push-back that knocked the smaller man back three feet.

She rested her elbows on the balcony and cupped her chin in her hands. "It would help if everyone around here didn't think of me as the second coming of Andraste. Hard to be friends with someone who genuflects when you look at them."

"That could be a pretty tall order," he agreed. He followed the direction of her gaze, and after a moment's silence, he asked casually, "Is that what you see in Iron Bull?"

She turned to look at him. "What?"

"I just mean there's clearly something there between you."

"We're attracted to each other," she said with an uncomfortable shrug.

He let that be for a moment, then shifted, his armor clinking softly against the stone. "I thought with what he said in the tavern the other night…"

Her spine stiffened, jerking her upright. "We are not talking about that," she said, stalking back inside.

"Inquisitor. Wait!" Cullen stretched his legs to catch up with her, to pace her down the stairs. 

She whirled on him. "This may surprise you, Commander Cullen, but sometimes people simply like to have sex."

Across the room, Solas turned slowly from his work on the mosaics decorating the round room at the base of the tower.

They both ignored him. "What he's offering you isn't sex. Look," he said, reaching for her then holding up both hands when she twitched away from him and glared. "Just promise me before you get too much deeper into this thing with him that you'll talk to Dorian."

"Dorian?" she echoed in disbelief. "Why in all of Thedas would I talk to anyone about my sex life, let alone the gay Tevinter mage?"

"Perhaps I should leave you two alone," Solas offered.

"Stay put!" Cullen snapped. "Inquisitor, listen to me. You must speak with Dorian. I have, and there are things you should—"

"You spoke with Dorian. About my sex life. You went to _Dorian_ , without me being present, to discuss who I'm having sex with?"

"Damn it Inquisitor, if you would listen to me, I’m trying to tell you that—"

He was a combat-honed warrior in full armor, trained to handle moments of lethal, explosive violence from people who could summon demons with the snap of a finger.

She was instructed in the stalk and the hunt, in being where she wasn't expected, flashing in and out of combat leaving bleeding corpses in her wake. Speed and the precise meld of timing and force were her forte.

Her fist caught him on the side of his jaw in a perfect arc of knee, hip, chest, and shoulder.

By the time he got to his feet, she was gone.

 

She took herself to the courtyard, working patterns with short wooden staves against the vaguely human-shaped sacks of hay. Steady hits in careful strokes, slow at first. Only when she was certain of her control, certain of the fidelity of her blows, did she speed up her attacks. 

A blur of motion, four thwacks of stick against wood, then a pause. It was soothing in the way nothing else was, familiar and comforting. The challenge was only against herself, to be faster, to be better and more accurate. 

When her arms began to tire of the exercise, she moved on to the next pattern, using two of the dummies. Again she began slowly, aiming each strike with care. She stepped toward the two, graceful and sure, moving between them, then behind, then across to end up back where she started. As her speed increased, the time between passes decreased until she was a fluid dance of violence in constant motion and rhythmic slaps of wood against rattling post.

Finally, her arms gave out and she stopped, gulping air into lungs that burned.

"P-pardon me, Worship."

Too tired to get angry at the sobriquet, Evelyn just sighed and turned to the serving girl. "Yes?" she said.

"Commander Cullen's compliments, my lady, and he asked me to tell you that he has sent up a bath and a bottle of wine to your chambers."

As apologies went, that was a good one. She still hadn't forgiven him, but she was willing to rethink the matter once she'd finished soaking. She nodded her understanding and stifled a groan at the thought of the long staircases to reach the promised bath. But they wouldn't get any less steep for waiting. Better to go now before her muscles stiffened and while the water might still be warm.

When she shut the door to her room behind her, it was with a sigh of mingled relief at finally being alone and resignation at the two smaller flights of stairs left. Whoever had decided that the Inquisitor needed one large room the size of a barn at the very top of Skyhold was definitely not the same person who had to cart up the firewood it took to keep the place warm.

And she was willing to bet the bath was far enough back from the fireplace that the water would be cold. Well, enough wine would solve that problem, she decided, and pushed herself up the stairs at a trot.

That's when she heard the splashing.

She frowned and opened the door at the top of the stairs, wondering if there a servant was still there filling the tub.

But it wasn't a servant, and the tub was definitely full.

"I wasn't aware I had company," she said, dropping her practice staves on the low couch beside the book she'd abandoned last night. "Remind me to have Cullen post a guard on my door."

Bull took another drink directly from the bottle of wine. "Feel free to assign anyone you think deserves the beating," he said.

"I'm too tired," she said, "and too – " _Heart sore?_ her mind supplied. _Hurt? Alone?_ "—sweaty to be in the mood for this, Bull. Please, just go."

He stood.

Water sheeted down his naked body, silver skin and amber water from the firelight beside him. Droplets of water chimed as they fell into the tub. Her eyes followed the rivulets across the ripples of sleek muscle on his chest, watched them gather then fall down the relaxed strength of his stomach. There was no nest of dark curls between his legs as there might've been on a human man, nothing to disguise the length of his penis.

Everything else she felt was subsumed under her fascination with his body.

"Come here."

She could no more have resisted that command than she could have fought the pull of the tides. He stepped out of the tub as she walked closer. His anger was easy to read in the set of his jaw, the creases by his eye.

She wasn't afraid. Faced with a good seven feet of angry Qunari, she could have been forgiven for it. Before she could wonder about it, he went down to one knee. His hand patted his squared-off thigh. "Foot," he said.

She blinked.

He didn't wait for her to process the command, or bother to repeat it. He took her ankle in one hand and set her foot on his thigh, then began unlacing her boot in quick yanks. Lifting her foot, he left her to find her bobbling balance while he pulled the boot off.

"Foot," he said again, pushing her bare foot off his leg.

She lifted her still-booted foot and set it on his thigh. He grunted, a small sign of approbation, and removed her other boot as well before tossing both toward the sitting area of her large room.

She started to remove her shirt, planning to just pull it off over her head without undoing more fastenings than had come loose during her workout. As he had the day before, he stopped her. "Nah," he corrected her with a frown. "Stand."

Her eyebrows spiked at the command. She knew it for one usually given to restive horses to let them know they were to be still. Before she could give voice to her objections, he undid the lacings that held her soft pants closed, skimming them down her hips.

Only then did his touch falter. His attitude had been businesslike, but as his hands brushed down her bare thighs, she heard him suck in a long breath. The muscles in his back clenched, and she felt his fingers tighten. Leaving her pants tangled around her ankles, his hands drifted back up to the curve of her hips. The tips of his fingers traced the rounded bottom of her buttocks, just below the edge of her smallclothes. 

She bit her lip and fought for silence, closing her eyes in her search for control until she felt his hot breath on her inner thigh. A tiny sound escaped her, too small for a whimper.

It was enough. He sat back and slid his fingers into the waistband of her linen underthings, gliding them down her body as well. When he straightened, there was no trace in his expression of what he might be feeling.

Her shirt came off next, and her leather wrap, removed with the same cool economy of motion that he had used to take off her boots. Then she was naked in front of him. She stepped out of the pile of her clothes and reached for him.

He caught her wrists, a firm clasp that instantly softened to a light hold. "Towel," he said.

The word made no sense in her current state of mind, and she wanted to ignore it but when she tried to free her wrists, his grasp tightened.

"Evelyn," he said, jerking her attention to his face. "Go get the towel."

Uncertainly, she looked around. Sure enough, whomever had brought up the bath had also left a pile of towels by the fireplace. He let her go when she moved toward them and unfolded one, bringing it back. Her movement were hesitant, unsure, and she looked to him for guidance.

Traces of humor lightened his eye. "I'm wet," he said slowly.

She looked past the towel to his body. Droplets of water still shone against his skin, reflecting the firelight. Her lips curved upward and a sound of pure feminine appreciation purred in her throat. Suddenly all she wanted to do was explore every inch of him, something that had so far been impossible. He had barely let her touch him at all.

She didn't bother to dwell on the implications of permission, just lifted the towel with a lazy sort of anticipation. Her hand flattened on the fabric, catching it between his chest and her hand. Powerful muscles bunched and twitched under her touch where her hand glided, dragging the rough nap of the towel across his skin.

The scent of water and soap did not mask the essential scent of him, something both spicy and musky. Evelyn leaned closer to inhale it, drinking it through parted lips and across her tongue. Her mouth watered, wanting the taste of him. The towel slid down, baring his flesh for her.

His hand knotted in her hair, tugging her head back, tilting her face up to him. He looked down at her, amused, one corner of his mouth twisted up. "Just the towel," he admonished.

She actually pouted at him, an expression she didn't think she'd ever used in her life, but obeyed and focused on stroking him in small circles, catching every last drop of water. She slid around behind him, caressing the nape of his neck, trailing the towel down his spine, an incurve of bone between perfectly sculpted muscles that tensed and relaxed as she moved. She measured the breadth of his shoulders with the length of the towel and sighed her pleasure against his skin.

Then she moved around in front of him again, teasing herself as much as him. His upper body was dry, after all. She knelt in front of him, bare ass on her heels, and held the towel in both hands, starting at his right ankle. His calves were as hard and muscled as the rest of him, the tendons of his knees tight and thick. Scars marred the skin of his thigh but left the essential shape of them undisturbed, adding thick ridges of paler silver that intrigued her fingertips.

She didn't linger. On and up her hand moved, sliding between his thighs to stroke across his testicles, drawing a strangled sound from him, a mingle of growl and groan. His cock was definitely aroused now, standing straight and hard against his flat stomach. Slowly, torturously, she slid her hand-wrapped towel up its length, rising up on her knees as she did. The motion brought her mouth close to his cock, and she looked up at him, smiling slow and wicked.

"Evelyn…" he warned her.

She didn't look away but leaned in, parting her lips, trailing her tongue across them briefly, just enough to taste—

He snatched her up, large hands clamping down over her ribs, and flicked her through the air as she might have tossed aside an apple core. Training kept her from an awkward landing, and she hit her bed with her hands under her.

Before she could push herself into a roll or rise, his weight hit her and flattened her into the mattress. He found her hands and yanked them above her head, stretching her out, catching both her wrists in one enormous hand and pinning them there.

Instinct sent her bucking against the pressure, trying to throw him off. Here, too, she had had training; with a twist, she freed her hands and sent her elbows back, thudding into the heavy muscle covering his ribs. His weight altered as he ducked sideways from her attempted backward head-butt. He managed to recapture her wrists and slammed them back into the mattress. The totality of his restraint and size defeated her before she had truly begun. She simply couldn't dislodge someone who had a foot and a half of size and the better part of two hundred pounds on her.

"Easy," he murmured against her ear. "Settle. You're all right." His free hand found her side, stroked it, fingers brushing the outer curve of her breast with every pass. "Shh, Evelyn. Settle. It's all right."

She shivered as she stopped, recognizing the fruitlessness of her struggle, shaking from adrenalin demanding an outlet. Her lungs hitched; she couldn't seem to catch a decent breath with his full weight on her, but he didn't shift away. He just held her, pinned her, waited out this fight, too.

A full minute of silence passed between them. Gradually the clenched tautness of her muscles eased. There was not, despite his firm hold on her, any feeling of threat or danger. Her bed, normally cold until her body heat had warmed it enough for her to sleep, felt comfortably warm for once. He had made no move against her despite the utter helplessness of her position.

He could have excused it, she knew. She'd all but taken his cock in her mouth, and now he was naked atop her, had held her writhing and squirming beneath him. But what was permitted when she was free to make a choice was completely separate from what he could take by force.

He hadn't. He just held her.

"All right?" he asked.

She nodded a little.

He shifted his weight, enough to let her breathe more comfortably but not let her rise. "You needed a little object lesson," he said. "You have power. In here, I have more. You're strong. I'm stronger. You fight. I win. Do you understand?"

Hesitantly, she nodded again.

"Good. Now I'm willing to forgive that little incident by the tub, mostly because I enjoyed the hell out of it, but we have to talk about the attitude when you came in."

Her brows dipped sharply downward and she started to turn, to open her mouth.

His hand left her side to close over her lips. "I'm not done," he said.

She shot a sidelong glare at him.

"I see," he sighed. 

Bull sat back, freeing her mouth as he did, one knee on either side of her thighs. He didn't let go of her wrists, but did let her twist onto her back so she could face him.

Slowly, he pushed her wrists down so they rested on her sternum, her hands between her bare breasts. 

She couldn't seem to tease one emotion out of the tangle of what roiled inside her, a thunderstorm waiting to explode. Anger. Injured pride. Beneath it all, the deep swell of lust that never seemed to go away.

She didn't bother to hide anything she was feeling. Instead, she gave him a look she had perfected at her father's court; heated disdain reserved only for those who were truly beneath her and desperately needed reminding of the fact.

He nodded a little, slow, thoughtful. Then he shrugged and swung a leg off her, releasing her wrists. He walked toward the bathtub and picked up his discarded clothes, giving them a shake.

Evelyn sat up and rubbed her wrists. They weren't bruised, but were a little sore from being clamped in the vise of his grip for so long. She watched him, suspicious, but he didn't look back at her, just continued dressing.

"That's it?" she asked finally. "That's all it took to make you give up?"

He slid half a smile over one bare shoulder. "This was never about breaking you. This was about taming you to my hand. You came to me, remember? You wanted the kiss in the tavern, you wanted my lips on your breasts. I just gave you what you wanted but didn't want to ask for. You want me gone? I'm gone."

He looked around for his boots, then sat on the stool by the fire and upended one of them before pulling it on.

Evelyn slid out of the bed and watched him, uneasy and unsure why.

He didn't look over at her, just dusted a bit of something off his other boot and tugged it in place.

She shifted on bare feet, wrapped one arm around her stomach, then let it drop awkwardly.

He didn't bother fastening on his baldric, just looped the leather over one muscled arm and headed toward her door.

"Wait," she said, reaching toward him and pulling her arm back immediately.

He stopped and cocked his head at her. "Yes, Your Worship?" he said politely.

She frowned. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Don't…" She closed her eyes and sighed, half-turning from him, shoulders slumping. "Don't call me that. I hate it."

His booted footfalls echoed in her room, then his warm hand stroked her bare shoulder. "Evelyn. Tell me what you want."

"Stay."

He pulled her close, enfolding her in one arm.

She buried her nose against his chest.

His chin rested atop her head for a moment, then he ducked it to kiss her hair. "Never," he murmured, "never again tell me to leave your rooms. Don't presume to tell me your moods. I know your moods, Evelyn. I know what you need. Trust me."

After a moment, she asked, "Does that mean you knew I didn't want you to go, too?"

"Of course. But you needed to know it, too."

"That's very annoying."

He chuckled, the sound rumbling under her ear. "I know. Back to bed, now."

She started to crawl back into bed, then stopped.

"What?"

"I didn't get my bath," she said. "I smell."

He laughed, a rich roll of sound. "You humans. You smell like fighting and sex. Why would you not want to smell like that?"

Her nose wrinkled. "That's not exactly how it smells to me."

He shook his head, then gestured at the abandoned bath. "Go for it," he said, resuming his walk toward the door.

"Wait, you're leaving?"

"It's dinner time. I'm hungry."

"But—"

He grinned at her, that grin that showed just a flash of teeth and lethal intent. "You've had enough for one day," he said. "Tomorrow."

Then he was gone.

Evelyn stood nude in her cold room and stared at the door. "I really hate that man," she told no one. With a sigh, she climbed into the cool water in her tub and tried not to think about anything.

Tomorrow, he had said.

She shivered.


	4. Day Four

Evelyn skipped down the stairs of the library loft, book in hand. At the base of the steps, she heard Bull's bass rumble and Varric's lighter voice rising in answer. The subject caught her attention, and she stopped.

"I try to make it a rule not to pry into the sex lives of other people. It's always disappointing and usually pretty grotesque. But I have to ask… Not _once_?"

"It's only been four days, Varric."

"I'm surprised it takes you that long to get a woman."

"It's not about sex. You can slap a saddle on any horse and go for a good gallop if that's all you're looking for."

"I admire your dedication to an analogy, but I still think it's about sex."

"Well, it's not. Sex is easy. Women like it, you know."

"Yeah, I'd heard that rumor. I'm just saying, whatever is going on between you and the Inquisitor looks an awful lot like sex from here."

"That's because you're short. No perspective."

"Aw, a height joke, Tiny? I thought you were a bigger man that that."

"Heh. I see what you did there."

"It's all over the keep, you kicking out the servants who dragged the bath to her room, the Herald going up a few minutes later... You're telling me you were both all hot and soapy, and not once? Maferath's wrinkled nut sac, Qunari, are you trying to drive her insane with frustration or yourself?"

"That's just a side benefit. We're all animals. That includes me. You can't train an animal without training yourself."

There was a sigh and a rearrangement of limbs that made a chair creak. Varric, it seemed knew when to be silent to draw out a speaker.

"I admit, it's killing me. You wouldn't believe the body she's got under that armor. She's soft, like silk over a feather pillow, and has an ass that I could cup perfectly in the palm of my hand. Then she fights back, and it's like trying to hold on to a lightning bolt. And I forgot she'd been to Orlais. She almost got me with that one."

"Of course! Now I see how it's not at all about sex."

"You're a little fixated, Varric. You might want to speak with someone about that. Maybe that scout of Leliana's. She's crafty."

"Stones, man, I'm curious. You claim you've got this great secret to getting a woman and somehow, with one look and a finger on the chin, you've got the Herald of Andraste tripping over her own tongue. Four days later, the two of you are barely speaking but you give each other looks that are setting the tapestries on fire. You come and go from each others' rooms at all hours, and you say you're not having sex. What the hell are you doing then?"

Bull was silent for long enough that Evelyn thought he wasn't going to answer. Then he said, "Winning."

"Winning what? Poetry contests? C'mon!"

"Maybe you should ask her."

"I would, but she's still eavesdropping and I'm politely pretending I don't know she's there."

Chagrined, Evelyn stepped out into the hall. "Very kind, Varric, thank you."

"My pleasure, Inquisitor."

"Please don't discuss my ass with other people, Bull."

"No promises."

"So tell me, do you have any idea what he's talking about winning?"

"Not a clue," she said. "But I will confirm one thing. Not once."

"Yet," Bull rumbled.

Evelyn raised her eyes to him. He was staring at her over steepled fingers, his head dipped just enough to cast his expression into partial shadow. She could see the implicit hunger in his smile, a glitter from his eye.

"And now the dwarf is uncomfortable. I'm going to go get a drink. You two might want to take it somewhere else before you shock one of the clerics."

From behind her, she heard Varric say, "Just… one thing before I go. The 'she's been to Orlais' thing. That means what I think it does, doesn't it?"

Evelyn's cheeks heated, but she didn't look away from Bull.

Couldn't.

Bull's grin widened, his teeth showing white. Evelyn reached out to touch the back of a chair, her knees abruptly unsteady. "Ask me again in eight days," he said. "Maybe I'll let her show you."

If Varric said anything else, she didn't hear it. After a moment, Bull patted his thigh. "Come sit. Let's see how many clerics we can shock."

Three easy steps took her to his side and she settled herself across his lap, one arm draped around his neck. "This is ridiculous," she murmured. "Hardly dignified for the Herald of Andraste."

"You're the one who says she wishes people would stop calling her that. I'm just trying to help."

"I'm sure telling the entire keep I've 'been to Orlais' will turn quite a few heads."

"You're welcome."

"You weren't serious about having me show him, were you?"

Bull chuckled, a rumble that vibrated under her hand resting on his chest. "Ask me again in eight days," he said, stroking a hand over her hair. He frowned a little when realized it had been tied back.

"You're in a good mood today."

His hand dropped from her hair, fingers spanned her waist, then settled into a soothing, steady pattern of circles on her hip. "So are you."

She considered. "I suppose I am."

"Everyone thinks you got laid last night."

"But I didn't. Someone walked out on me. While I was naked. That kind of thing can really hurt a girl's confidence, Bull."

He chuckled again, low and soft. "You'll recover," he assured her, pulling her sideways so he could slide a kiss across her jaw.

"So?" she drawled, fingers tracing the line of his collar bone.

"So?"

"So… it's tomorrow."

"I'm pretty sure it's today."

Her eyes narrowed at him. "You know what I mean."

"Actually, I do. But do you?"

"Of course."

"And what do you think you mean?"

Something in his tone set off a lone warning bell in the back of her mind, but she ignored it. He hadn't stopped drawing circles on her hip with his fingers. Even that touch was driving her insane. If they hadn't been in the main hall, curious Orlesian courtiers swirling about and trying not to stare, she'd have done something far more inappropriate than just sit in his lap.

"I mean you said yesterday that this was about doing what I want."

"That's what you heard?" He sighed. "This may take more than two weeks."

She frowned and sat back, annoyance sparking. "That _is_ what yo—"

He set a finger over her lips. "Gently, Evelyn. Think back. What did I actually say?"

She was still annoyed, but she thought back, her eyes sliding sidelong. "You said," she began slowly, "This wasn't about breaking me, it's about t—" Abruptly remembering where they were, she looked around, cheeks turning a warm pink. More than one courtier edged away, realizing they'd been seen. 

"Mm hmm," Bull said, a trifle too self-satisfied for her tastes. "Go on."

Nonetheless, Evelyn lowered her voice. "Then you said I came to you and that…"

She stopped. "You said you gave me what I wanted but didn't ask for." Her spine straightened and her head tilted down. "Are you telling me if I ask for it, I don't get it?"

"The offended noblewoman," Bull said with half a smile. "And no, that's not what it means. Always tell me what you want. Just don't assume that means I think you're right."

"Well if you're not going to believe me when I say it…"

"Say it anyway," he said. "I want honesty. But you'll get what I give you, and you'll have to trust that what I give you is what you truly need. Not what you think you want."

Part of her bristled. No one had told her what she needed since she was a child, and she had been making her own decisions for most of her life. She knew her own mind, and knew very well what she wanted.

His hand traced the line of her arched neck. "So much easier to break you than to tame you," he mused, "to keep all that pride and fire intact."

"You think it would be that easy to break me, do you?" she asked.

He sighed. "I'd have been done by now," he said. "And sleeping better. Look, when you were training, did your weapons master let you start with live steel right away?"

"No, of course not. I wanted a sword, actually. He's the one who convinced me to use daggers instead. He said I had remarkable balance and we should focus on my strengths. Are you supposed to be the weapons master in this scenario?"

"You knew that," he said. "I told you that from the beginning. Tame you. Train you."

"Somehow I don't think learning how to towel someone off is in the same league as weapons work."

His hand rose to the back of her neck, clamping there. "Listen to me. Everything about you is a weapon right now. You think anything else is standing between the world and the rifts? Between the world and Corypheus? It's you or no one. You're the weapon."

It seemed important to him, but if there was a connection she didn't see it. "It's not that I don't believe you," she said slowly, "but I don't understand what fighting has to do with… with bedroom games."

After a moment he released her. "I know. But you will."

"Inquisitor!" someone yelled from the back of the hall.

"Bother," grumbled Evelyn.

Bull dropped his arm to her waist again, holding her firmly in place when she would have risen.

A boy in a messenger's uniform sprinted across the stone hall. He skidded to a halt, catching himself on one of the other chairs. "Inquisi—" He stopped, looking from Bull to Evelyn and back again before turning the same shade of red as the banners hanging from the rafters.

"Yes, what is it?" she asked.

"S-seeker Cassandra, Your Worship," he stumbled. "She asks if you can come to the war room. They've heard from the scouts."

Evelyn began to rise and found herself set on her feet. She didn't look back at Bull, but walked toward the war room as quickly as she could without sprinting. Finally.

 

Voices echoed down the stone hall outside the war room.

"Then at best, it is a distraction," Cassandra was saying, angry and stiff. "We cannot afford that."

"The Inquisitor favors him," Leliana said in reply. "I do not believe she would allow us to send him away. If we had more proof…"

"It is unlikely we would be able to find any the Inquisitor would find credible," Josephine said. "We may have to accept her choice of lovers and deal with the consequences later."

"They are not lovers. Varric made that clear."

"Perhaps one of us should try speaking with her again," Leliana said. "She might take it better coming from another woman."

A snort. "Take a helm."

Evelyn slammed open the smaller monks' portal in the large double doors.

All eyes turned to her, all guilty. Cassandra's chin jerked slightly higher, cool defiance. Josephine found something fascinating to examine on her slate. Leliana veiled her expressions perfectly. Cullen casually dropped one foot back, ready guard for a shield fighter.

"Someone start talking about scout reports," she said into the silence. "And do it quickly."

Smoothly, Leliana pointed to a new marker on the map on the war table. "We believe we have found a major source of red lyrium for the Templars," she said. "There will be many guards, and perhaps even Samson himself. But there is a problem."

Evelyn sighed. "Of course there's a problem. There's always a problem. What is it this time?"

"They are massed in Emprise du Lion," Leliana said. "To reach them, we will have to cross through the lands of several nobles, not all of whom have aligned with the Inquisition."

"There are ways to secure their allegiances," Josephine said. "I am compiling the information we have on them now, with the spymaster's assistance, and we will come up with a plan for gaining us the influence we seek."

Evelyn braced both her hands on the table and stared at the map. The journey from Skyhold to Emprise du Lion was not a short one. "So we either go in with a full army, which means we'd need support and a supply chain and we start a whole new war with every noble between us and them," she said, "or a small group goes in and hopes not to attract any attention for the whole journey, there and back."

"More or less," Cassandra said.

"Third option: more waiting."

"Yes, Inquisitor."

She rubbed the spot between her eyes that had begun aching on a regular basis. "Fine. Leliana and Josephine will begin figuring out what we have to do to make them let us save their lives. Anything else?"

"The troops could use some additional arms," Cullen said carefully. "There are resources in the Hinterlands we have not yet fully exploited. We could send some of the men to find the deposits of iron we need."

"Do it."

"Yes, Inquisitor."

"Is that all?" Evelyn glanced around the table. No one spoke. "Good," she said. "My personal life is none of your business. If I hear even a whisper that the lot of you are plotting with whom I sleep, where, when, or how, I will walk through those gates, take whatever forces will follow me, and leave you here to cackle and scheme as you will. Is that clear?"

"Inquisitor, we were just—"

She slammed a fist onto the table, making the counters jump. "Is that _clear_?" she snarled. Her glare pinned each of them in turn until ragged agreement went around the table.

"Fine. Send someone for me when you have your plots in place." Turning on heel, the Inquisitor left the war room.

 

Her temper had not settled any by the time she found where in Skyhold's maze of halls and rooms Bull had gotten himself off to. Why he was in the prison level, Krem didn't tell her. The prisons were wet, exposed to the waterfall by a broken wall that could not be repaired, only shored up. Still, a guard was stationed there since it provided all-too-easy access to the main keep.

"Get out," she snapped to the hapless woman, not stopping to watch her bow and scurry out the door.

Bull turned from his inspection of a set of manacles on the wall, his expression curious with a touch of surprise but not a hint of alarm.

"Thrice-damned, blight-born, scab-groined children of pox-riddled goats!" she swore, kicking at a set of stocks rotted from the damp. The wood cracked and splintered under her assault. "How dare they! How _dare_ they? Conspire behind my back to arrange my life, will they?" She whirled on Bull. "Do you know what they did? They _sent_ Varric to question you! To find out about us!"

"I know," he said calmly, folding his arms over his chest.

"You know? You _know_? Is that all you have to say?"

"What news did the scouts have?"

She stared at him in disbelief. "The scouts."

"Yes, the scouts. Do we go?"

"They've found the Templars in Emprise du Lion," she said, flinging her hands into the air in disgust. "Not that we can do anything about it. Samson's red-blighted army moving across the face of Thedas, and we have to play politics with a bunch of mincing noblemen." She gave the stocks one last kick then wrapped her arms around herself as if she could hold in all her frustration, her despair, her anger, her helplessness.

"People are dying, demons are walking with impunity through the world," she said after a moment, eyes on her toes. "Everyone looks to me to guide them, to lead them. I'm the Herald of Andraste, and while they die praying to me, I wait for treaties.

"This war will kill me. I don't know what to do, Bull."

Bull's laugh was unrestrained, joyous even. "Evelyn!" he shouted, scooping her up in his hands and spinning her around. "Ah, Evelyn, well done, girl! Well done indeed!"

She gaped at him even as her hands moved automatically to his shoulders.

He pulled her close, one hand cupped beneath the curve of her bottom, lifting her to fit her body against his. His lips met hers, not with force, not with devouring hunger, but with demanding intent, brushing her lips with velvet and steel.

Anger and frustration mingled with an uprush of lust. Her lips parted for his, and the tip of his tongue traced the inside of her mouth. The sensation made her shudder and she chased it, craving it, needing to feel that and only that. Him and only him. 

He moved, carrying them both, until her back touched the wall. His hand slid under her thigh, lifting her leg. Obedient, she wrapped her legs around his waist. He leaned into her, bracing her against the wall, his hips tight against hers.

She tilted her head away from his kiss, gasping for a breath that his lips denied her. His kisses swept down her jaw to her neck while one of his hands slid up under her shirt, rough against her skin.

"What…" she whispered faintly. "What are you doing?"

"Rewarding you," he rumbled. His teeth caught the skin of her neck, tugged, released it. 

"For what?"

He pulled away, just enough to look her over. "No," he murmured with a slow smile that made her spine melt, "I have a better idea."

"Really?" she said, voice husky. "I don't."

He looked around and hmmed deep in his throat. "Too cold for you to be naked. Pity."

"I'll be fine, I promise."

"Quiet."

She clamped her lips together.

He frowned at her. "This has to go, though." Quickly, he yanked the tie out of her hair and dangled it in front of her eyes. "Never wear this again when we are alone. Do you understand?"

She nodded.

He looked down at her hips. She could see him bracing himself. It was in the way he gathered a breath, flexed his muscles, then released both, a combination that had delighted her from the first. Her hands itched, and she began to reach for him but stopped herself.

He didn't seem to notice, just undid the ties on her pants and let them slide down her legs, following them with the thin underthings beneath. He didn't even remove her boots this time, but did crouch to untangle one of her feet from the clothes.

"Turn around," he said.

Slowly, uncertain, she did as he bade her and faced the wall.

"Hands up, on the wall."

She glanced up, but there were no manacles on this section of brick. 

"Up, Evelyn."

Her body tingled with the memory of his touch. Her lips were full and ached for more attention, kisses that would be denied her if her back were to him. She glanced over her shoulder. "But—"

"Evelyn," he said, voice deceptively silky. "What are the odds that I'm going to enjoy having to tell you a third time?"

She looked at him.

He arched an eyebrow at her.

She swallowed hard and ducked her head, then placed her hands on the wet rocks.

Behind her, he groaned. "Woman, you are killing me." Then he took a deep breath. "Higher," he said.

She slid her hands higher.

"There." She felt his hands on her bare hips, pulling her away from the wall enough so her arms were outstretched to their fullest to keep her hands in place, with only the slightest bend to her waist.

He stopped for a moment. His thumbs brushed over her buttocks, then slid around. Each hand cupped one rounded cheek. Slowly, he traced one finger down to the soft skin of her inner thigh, making her twitch, and she found she had difficulty catching her breath. "There is only one rule today," he said, "and that is this: keep your palms on that wall."

Had there been rules before, she wondered? Yes. Yes, there had. Keep your hands on top of your head. Don't undress yourself. No lips. He had always given her rules.

She heard the grinding of stone on stone and tried to look over her shoulder or under her arm, but could see nothing. Something hard bumped the back of her heel.

"Lift your foot."

She obeyed and felt him slip a rock under her booted foot. Without prompting, she lifted the other one as well and he shoved another rectangle of fallen masonry into place, raising her up. She slid her hands up the wall to compensate. With a foot, he nudged the rocks apart, spreading her legs. Cold air licked up her thighs, bit at the tender, exposed flesh of her sex.

Then he took her hips in his hands again and stepped forward, slamming her back against him as he moved. She felt the hardness of his erection through his pants against her bottom. Her back arched and she shuddered from head to toe. 

One hand stroked the curve of her back, caressed her bare ass. His low chuckle was barely audible over the crash of the nearby waterfall. "Eager," he said.

"Maker, yes," she sighed.

"Quiet."

"I thought you said there was only one rule."

"For you, being quiet is always a rule unless it is to answer a question. If you find it too difficult to obey, I can enforce it."

She didn't speak. After a moment he rocked against her hips once, twice, three times, a mock rhythm suggestive enough to make her blood burn. Sweat beaded on her forehead. A test, she knew it for a test and bit her lip to keep from crying out, but was helpless to stop her hips from moving against him, her fingers from digging into the wall, turning her flat hands into fists.

"Palms!" he barked.

Her hands snapped open.

Instantly his tone gentled. "Ah, obedience. You give me hope, Evelyn. Now if only you can stay so biddable. You'll do that, won't you?"

"Yes," she whimpered, her hips still shifting against him, wanting, craving, seeking.

He leaned over her, his body encompassing hers. His left hand tickled her waist, slid down her stomach and cupped the nest of curls between her legs. She strained toward his fingers away from the contact with his hips, but he moved with her, kept his hold on her. Rode her. 

"Yes what?" he said in her ear.

"I… I don't…"

"Yes, you do." His deep, low voice coaxed another quiver from her punctuated by a soft moan. "Say it, Evelyn. Give me what I want. Yes. What?"

She licked her lips, dry despite the mist of water in the air.

"Yes, ser," she whispered.

His finger found her clit, hot and swollen, and stroked it.

She screamed, an orgasm built of three days of frustration and need exploding inside of her, sweeping through her body and choking her scream into silence. Soundless, wordless, her mouth hung open. 

His right arm snaked around her, keeping her upright where she would have fallen. His finger never ceased its rhythm as he clenched his arm around her, pinning her against the hard mass of his body. He buried his mouth against her neck, growling hungry demands she could not hear but understood perfectly.

One of his fingers slid into her then, stroking her. She clenched around it, involuntary, answering his penetration of her. Her cries echoed off the stone, were swallowed up in the thunder of the waterfall. His thumb brushed her clit as his finger moved inside of her. Another orgasm slammed through her and her knees crumpled. Her weight sagged against him, her arms trembled and her hands dragged down rough stone that cut into her palms. 

Aftershocks licked through her, each one causing her body to spasm, each stealing another yelp from her. His finger withdrew from her, even that one last stroke making her wail softly in pleasure and protest. Slowly she realized he had stopped moving against her, was simply holding her, murmuring soft, soothing sounds.

She dropped her head back to his shoulder and remembered how to breathe.

Still he held her and waited. Eventually, her heart rate slowed. She sighed.

"I would carry you to bed," he said, "but somehow I don't think you want me carrying you through the keep with no pants on."

It was the funniest thing she had ever heard, and she laughed helplessly, still dangling from his arms. With an effort, she got her feet under her, forced her legs to work. She tried to bend to straighten her pants and pull them up, but balance eluded her and she almost fell. He grabbed her, and her hands fell to his arm.

Unexpected pain made her wince and hiss in a breath. She tilted her palms into the light, revealing thin scratches and patches where her skin had come off entirely.

He grabbed her wrists and angled them so he could see, frowning at the damage.

"You said not to take my palms off the wall," she said, trying her best to speak clearly.

He shook his head. "I did," he said. "This is my fault. I'm sorry. You are so soft. I forget."

"If I can get my pants on, will you carry me to bed?"

He tipped his head to look at her, then smiled. "Yes," he said.

"Then you are forgiven."

His lips brushed hers, then he helped her dress.

"Bull," she said suddenly, giving up on actually tying the laces of her breeches.

"What?"

"You never did tell me what you were rewarding me for."

He scooped her up in his arms as though she weighed less than an eiderdown pillow. "You know."

"But I don't."

"Hush. I said you do."

She thought about it, then nestled her head against his arm. "All right, then."

"Good girl."

Inhaling the scent of him, held in his arms, she fell into her first true sleep in days.


	5. Day Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Look, they can't ALL be hot sex. Deal with the feelz.)

"Yes, I know, it's all quite shocking. Simply terrible behavior. But I am from Tevinter, my lady, and one must make allowances!" The door shut. "Old bat. Go back to your belfry and flap about someone else's head." Booted footsteps on stone.

Evelyn tried to lift her head from her pillow but couldn't quite manage the trick of it at first. Summoning her reserves of willpower, she pushed herself upright and shoved a thatch of hair from her eyes.

Dorian appeared at the top of the stairs, a heavy cylindrical basket over one arm. His face brightened into a smile. "Ah! You're up. As you can see, I've made the heroic trek from the kitchens to—" He stopped and frowned. "Maker, Inquisitor, are those your breasts? You leave them lying around like that?"

She looked down at herself. Though she distinctly remembered being fully clothed when Bull carried her from the dungeons, she was indeed naked this morning. For a moment, she imagined him undressing her helpless body and grinned. "Like you care."

He laughed. "Quite right, not at all flustered." He brought his burden to the bed and sat, then began unloading it. "There are entire estates in the Imperium where wearing any clothing at all is considered quaint and provincial. Ah! Here we are. Down the hatch, then."

Evelyn took the tiny bottle he handed her and eyed the bright red contents unhappily. Elfroot potions were an essential part of any campaign, and keeping the Inquisition supplied with them took tremendous effort. Even Evelyn herself was admonished to gather any she came across. Still, whatever alchemical process turned the dusky green herb into a cheery red liquid wasn't something she liked to think about. 

But she swallowed it, felt the impact of it in her empty stomach. It tingled inside her, a tingling that spread with every heartbeat to the rest of her body. The pain in her hands, easily ignored though irritating, faded to nothing.

"Now, let's see what else we have. Surely they put a decent vintage in here. How can you be expected to wake up without wine? Cook was quite insistent on sending porridge up to you, by the way. I'd imagine we can have him killed, if you like."

"I like his porridge," she said, taking the covered bowl. "He makes it with spices and honey."

"Disgusting," Dorian mumbled. "Ah, biscuits. And a pot of jam? Why do you get jam? I never get jam."

Evelyn licked her spoon and batted her eyelashes at him. "I'm the Inquisitor, that's why."

"Well, that's hardly fair. I trust you'll be sharing your bounty." He tilted his head toward her naked torso. "So to speak. Especially when you consider everything I went through to bring this to you."

Evelyn took the hint and tugged the sheet up to cover herself, tucking it under her armpits. "Yes, I heard. An old bat flapping around my door?"

"Not the half of it! That Qunari of yours had his thugs posted, turning away nearly anyone who came to wake you."

"Nearly anyone? What time is it?"

"Three past midmorning, thank you very much. Decadent of you to sleep so late. And yes, nearly anyone. Apparently they had orders from him to allow any one of your inner circle through and no one else. Naturally, your court sent for me to resolve matters." He took a biscuit and pulled it apart, then tapped a spoonful of sweet jam on it.

"I'm surprised they managed to chase people away with anything less than a full company."

"Yes, well, evidently it was the Bull's threat that did most of the work." Dorian narrowed his eyes. "Let's see now, how did it go?" Then he shook his head. "Can't quite recall but it involved using someone's skull as a lavatory. Gruesome. What you see in him, I cannot imagine."

"Yes, you can."

"Of course I can. The man has muscles in places most people don't have places."

Her laugh was muffled by a spoonful of sweet porridge. She liked Dorian and had from the first. He concealed a brilliant mind and a striking gift for magic behind a façade of airy unconcern, then protected that façade with a wit honed sharp in the courts of Tevinter.

He was also utterly gorgeous, and perfectly gay. Which made him utterly, perfectly safe.

"Wait a moment," she said. "I almost forgot. I'm angry with you."

He looked up at her without raising his head, concentrating on pouring tea from a flask into a mug. "I don't suppose that can wait until I've finished my tea?"

"No, it cannot, and that's my tea."

"Now now, Inquisitor, let's not be stingy. Cook didn't put a drop of liquor in here, the least you can do is salvage this ruin of a breakfast by sharing a cup of tea." He sat back from the basket and folded one leg onto the bed, leaving the other to dangle. Cup in hand, he nodded. "Very well. Go on, then."

"What exactly do you mean, discussing my sex life with Cullen?"

"I can assure you I did no such thing."

"He seems to believe that's exactly what you did."

"Ah, well. All due respect to our dear Commander, but he is Ferelden."

"Dorian."

He sighed. "Very well," he said, losing his teasing cheer. He rubbed his jaw, scraped clean of any trace of scruff or bristle underneath the upswept ends of his moustache. "I wonder how much you know of the war between Tevinter and the Qunari."

"Some," she said, cocking her head. "As much as most do, outside of either empire."

"Part of the problem with our two peoples, you see, is that we're actually remarkably alike, though I wouldn't say so within the hearing of any of my countrymen, of course. Both the Qunari and the Tevinter are certain their way is the right one, and both have centuries of experience in convincing everyone inside their own borders of that. Whether they want to be convinced or not."

He glanced at her with fox-amber eyes.

She shook her head. Whatever he was hinting at, she didn't yet understand.

"Hm. Surely you know by now that any Tevinter magister has a host of lesser mages who…" He paused, making an elegant, rolling gesture with his hand. "Serve him. If you take my meaning. And while some of them do it for the promise of power or protection, there is little doubt that the magister is also the master."

He stared at her.

She stared back, blankly.

He cleared his throat. "What I'm trying to say is that it takes a certain background to see it, but you've chosen a fight you cannot possibly win."

"I beg your pardon?"

"This game you're playing with the Bull. He'll win. I daresay he'll enjoy the challenge, of course but this, my dear Inquisitor, is what the Qunari do. And a Ben-Hassrath better than most."

"Get out of my room, Dorian."

"No. You must hear me out, you will hear me out. This is not about your sex life. It's about the fate of this Inquisition."

"Melodramatic, isn't it?"

He shook his head. "I have never been more serious in my life."

She frowned a little as she studied him. He seemed sincere, even a touch worried. Grim. She had seen this side of him before, but she hadn't expected to see it in this context. "All right," she said. "Tell me."

"The Ben-Hassrath are Qunari re-education specialists. They see it as their place in life to correct those who stray from the Qun, and they've been doing it for, well, ages. Their methods vary, of course, but part of their training is in how to recognize which method will suit which person. Some of their methods are rather painful, believe me. But have no doubt, they are master manipulators, and should never be underestimated."

Gentler, he said, "One of their tasks is also to train new recruits to the Qun."

She blinked. "You cannot possibly think Iron Bull is attempting to recruit me to the Qun."

"I think he who controls the Inquisitor controls the Inquisition, and that is not a weapon I would willingly see put in the hands of the Qunari."

The blood drained from her face. "That… That's not what he's doing."

"No? Tell me when I'm wrong, then. Your brain gets a little bit fuzzy when he's around, and your reactions to him are almost mindlessly sexual."

She didn't answer. 

"By now I'll wager he's set enough triggers in place that anything about him sets off a physical response in you. His voice? Perhaps even just the sight of him."

Her eyes widened slightly.

He continued. "He started off by making you do small things you normally wouldn't, things that felt quite pleasurable, but has recently begun stretching those boundaries. Each milestone is rewarded with another sexual encounter."

"He hasn't made me do anything I don't want to."

Dorian sighed. "Evelyn, that's the point. He makes you want to. Think back to a week ago. Have you done nothing with him that one bare week ago, you wouldn't have imagined yourself doing?"

"Of course not."

"Lie to yourself if you must, Inquisitor, but do me the courtesy of not lying to me. How obedient have you become to him? What commands has he given that you have ever disobeyed?"

Evelyn pushed herself out of the bed, leaving the sheet behind, uncaring that her breakfast spilled on the floor. The clothes she'd worn the day before were filthy and still on the chair near her bed. No one had been able to take the laundry. She fumbled around for another set to wear and came up with the light cotton clothes that went under her armor.

"I'm sorry," Dorian said, still seated. "But the strings he's tying to you are dangerous. For the sake of us all, you must wake up or they will never be broken."

"There are no strings," she said, firmly ignoring the unsteadiness in her voice.

She heard his footfalls and turned, but not before he could grab her wrists and slam her backward into the wall. The way he held her forced her naked body to arch against his. His amber eyes glittered scant inches from hers, a darkness in him she found she knew all too well. That hungry, anticipatory look sent heat spilling through her groin, and she shifted her hips unconsciously.

"Sweet Evelyn," Dorian murmured, ducking his head to nuzzle lightly at her ear. "Your strings tremble in the air around you and beg for a hand to stroke them. It doesn't even matter by whom." 

_He's gay!_ her mind wailed.

Her body did not care.

Fear, anger, and a sick sense of understanding gave her the strength to shove him back away from her. He stumbled slightly but caught himself.

They looked at each other over her pile of discarded clothes.

"I'm sorry," he said, no trace of seductive tone or intent. "You needed to understand that such things can be entirely separate from any real emotion or desire. There are steps, stages to breaking a person the way he is breaking you. Had I thought it would go this far, this quickly, I would have spoken sooner. From what I saw in the tavern, I suppose I should have. But I would not have been able to call myself your friend if I did not make you understand."

She still didn't answer him, could not stop staring.

His shoulders sagged slightly, and he turned to go.

She let him.

When the door shut behind him, Evelyn slid down the wall and buried her head in her hands.

The late afternoon saw her walking the keep. Even without a team to organize to go after Templars, there were things that required her attention. She met with Harritt to discuss what would be needed to process the influx of ore they expected, and listened to his thoughts on a more refined design for some of her own armor. More soldiers were dispatched to help maintain order during the rebuilding effort of a small village. A noble in Orlais was throwing a party that did not require the presence of the Inquisitor herself, but someone had to be sent.

She visited the infirmary to speak with the wounded. She stopped by the practice grounds to encourage the soldiers in training. She went to the herb garden to ensure that the new seedlings of rare herbs were growing well.

Had anyone asked her how she spent her day, she could not have said.

Twilight lasted a long time at their elevation. What sunlight remained reflected off of rock and snow, painting the world in streaks of pink and peach and lavender. Evelyn leaned on the balustrade of one of Skyhold's many barely accessible balconies and watched the colors change.

Eventually, as she knew she would, she heard footsteps. A frisking wind whirled around her as he drew near. She could smell the scent of him, and her heart rate sped up.

She hated it.

Bull's heavy forearms rested on the stone railing beside her and he leaned down to look out at the mountains as she was.

The balcony was small. He took up most of the available room. There was no way to avoid feeling the warmth radiating from his body. No way to not hear the sound his fingers made as he idly scratched his bearded chin. 

"Who did you talk to?" he asked finally.

"Dorian," she said.

"Hm," he said, nodding a little. "I probably should have said something to him before this. Vints. They always know just enough to fuck things up."

"Is he wrong?" She shook her head slightly, eyes on the snowpack. "Because I've been thinking about it all day, and I can't see where he's wrong."

"That would depend on what he told you."

"He told me that the Ben-Hassrath specialize in manipulation."

"That's true."

"He said that you were conditioning me to respond to you."

"That's true, too."

"He said that you planned to control the Inquisition through me. That the Qunari would control it through you. He said you're placing strings on me, strings that anyone can play."

That made him hesitate. "Anyone?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave.

She glanced over at him.

"Did he touch you, Evelyn?"

She wanted to tell him it wasn't his business. She wanted to tell him that what happened in her chambers was personal. 

"He did more than touch me," she said.

His fingers ground into the stone, and the stone began to crumble.

Her eyes flicked down, then back up to him. "Jealousy. Really."

"No," he growled. "Damn Vint, fucking around with things he—" Bull shook his head, horns sweeping the air, and he visibly dragged his temper back under control. "Not jealousy, Evelyn."

"What then?"

He thought about his answer. It surprised her, a little, that she felt so patient. The world could turn to a new age, and she would wait.

"Protectiveness," he chose finally.

"You have no right to be protective of me."

He turned toward her, cupped her face in one hand. 

She wanted to slap his hand away. She didn't.

"I have more of a right than anyone," he said. "Have I done anything, anything at all to make you think I want control of this insanity?" he asked her. "Have I given you one piece of advice on the Inquisition, suggested one course of action?"

That was a new thought. "No," she said carefully.

"Have I spent any of our time together discussing the Inquisition's enemies or its targets or its ideologies?"

Her stomach clenched. "The scouts," she said suddenly. "You asked me about the scouts. And when I told you…"

He laughed, a short bark of humor. "I already knew about the scouts. The entire keep knew. Did you really think word wouldn't spread? Ask anyone, anyone at all. I'll wager even that chipmunk artificer of yours, Dagna, knew."

"Then why the rewar—"

"You know," he said gently. "You just don't know you know."

She waved that off with a dismissive snap of a wrist, pushing his hand away irritably. "You keep saying that."

"Because you do know, you idiot," he said, grasping her shoulders to turn her fully toward him. "Not here." His finger tapped the center of her head, one solid thwap. "But here." His hand flattened over her heart. Then he grinned, entirely too roguish for a man of his size. "And lower than that, I'd wager."

She didn't want to return his smile, but she had to. Some of the shadows cleared from her eyes.

"Evelyn. I do not want the Inquisition. If I even tried, there'd be a stampede of angry zealots fighting over who got to cut off my head. Cassandra first among them. And Leliana would take my balls in my sleep." 

"She would, too," Evelyn murmured, one corner of her mouth lifting slightly.

"So really, you only have one question to answer. Do you trust me, or do you trust Dorian?"

That killed her smile. "I don't know how to trust you anymore," she said.

She saw the lines of his jaw draw tight.

After a moment, he lifted a finger to stroke her jawline. His touch paused under her chin. "Two weeks," he said quietly. "In two weeks, I could teach you, train you, own every exquisite inch of you, and you would love me for it."

Slow curls of heat spread from her core.

"I have never lied to you. I have always told you I intended to tame you. Own you."

She shivered, utterly unaware her lips had parted slightly.

"You, Evelyn. Not the Inquisitor. Not the Herald of Andraste. Evelyn Trevelyan, noble daughter of a lord of the Free Marches, will bow her head to me."

His hand curved behind her neck. With light pressure, he pulled her closer. "I am Ben-Hassrath," he said. His fingers slid into her hair. "I do know how to make you bend. How to make you beg. How to make you want to serve me. What I do not know is how to make you believe me when I say that is all I want. Keep your Inquisition, Evelyn. I'm after better prey."

When he let her go, his fingers tangled briefly in her hair. He turned from her to walk inside.

"Bull!" she said.

He stopped but did not turn, only looked partway over one shoulder.

Words formed in Evelyn's throat but rose no further. Her hands gestured briefly, half-formed attempts to sculpt meaning out of the frigid mountain air. 

He waited.

Reaching up, she pulled the tie from her hair, letting the ungroomed mass tumble around her face to her shoulders.

Curious, he turned, brow knitting.

She held out the strip of leather to him.

The edges of his mouth twitched upward. He watched it twist and whip in the wind, then took it from her. With solemn deliberation, he wound it around the smallest finger of his right hand, tucking the ends in to keep it in place.

"Come," he said, holding that arm out to her. "Let's get you out of this wind. Your hair is a mess."

Evelyn tucked herself next to him. Together, they barely fit through the door into the small storage room.

"Now I'm going to go find that interfering biddy of a Tevinter and tie his testicles around his neck."

"None of that," she said. "I don't need everyone seeing two of my closest advisors re-enacting the Tevinter/Qunari war in miniature in the halls of the Inquisition."

He snorted. "As you will, Inquisitor. But I will have words with him."

"As long as none of them are kill, maim, or dead."

"Fine. I'll ask Varric for some others. He's good with words."

The doors shut behind them, closing out the cold.


	6. Day Six

The black and white gelding shifted his weight, a casual rearrangement of his feet that almost cost Evelyn a toe. "Stand," she said to the lazy flick of his ears.

The word had fallen automatically, but the memories it evoked were not about tending her own horse in her father's stables, focused instead on more recent events. She surrendered to her impulse to smile.

Eyes half-closed, the gelding's head bobbed a little. 

"High-bred courser, my ass," she murmured, giving him a pat.

"Why is it that your personal mount gets to stay in the stables, and all the rest of them are down in the pasture lands?" Cullen asked, leaning against the door to the stall.

"Same reason I get jam," she said, dropping the brush in a leather bucket with the rest of the grooming tools.

He laughed a little. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I'm the Inquisitor."

"Hm. If that's the price, I'll keep walking the mile or so to my horse." He held the door open for her as she exited, then walked with her the few steps toward the room where barn supplies were kept. "He's beautiful. What breed is he?"

"Dennet picked him up from one of the Dale lords, I think. I know I'm supposed to favor our native Free Marches breed, but that boy beats ours hooves down. So to speak."

"Don't let her fool you," Dennet, the Inquisition's master of horses, said as he rounded the corner. "She thinks he's pretty because of all the patches. Inquisitor," he said, inclining his head.

"Master Dennet," she greeted. 

"I wondered if I might have a word."

"Have several. How are we supplied?"

"Plenty of feed and hay," he said, "but too many of the horses are getting cuts on their legs from the ice. They're not all meant for this much snow."

She nodded. "Speak with Ser Morris. He may have fabric or leather we can use to make leg wraps. If we need more, have him send word. We can organize parties to find the resources we need in the Hinterlands. Try to use the leather first. We may need the fabric for bandages."

"Yes, Inquisitor."

"What's his name?" Cullen asked. "The horse, I mean."

Evelyn hung the bucket on a hook. "He doesn't have one."

"No?"

"Father's rules," she said with a sigh. "Never name the horse you ride into battle. Makes it too hard to lose them."

"Ah." He continued to follow her as she left the stables, raising a hand in greeting to Blackwall as they passed. "So what's his name?"

"Royeaux," she said immedately, brushing a lock of loose hair out of her face. "For that patch on his chest that looks like the cathedral. Do you need me in the war room?"

"No, actually. I was hoping we could talk."

Amused, she looked sidelong at him. "Really? You didn't bring your helm."

Wordlessly, he held up an Elfroot potion, then tucked it into his belt as she chuckled. "I thought maybe since Dorian had spoken to you, you might have forgiven me. Just a little."

"I do. I am sorry. It's possible I overreacted."

"And it's possible I bungled the whole conversation. I don't even know why they made me do it."

"Full armor," she reminded him.

"Not full enough."

"Inquisitor!" 

She and Cullen both turned to the messenger who hurried up. "The supply train coming from your family was raided outside of Bywater. One of the outriders made it back. He says it was refugees!"

Cullen bowed and began to back away, but she stopped him with an upraised hand. Behind the messenger came the rider, plainly being escorted from the courtyard toward the infirmary. "How many did they kill?" she asked him.

"None, Lady Trevelyan," the outrider said. "Some injuries, broken limbs mainly. They ran our horses through the camp. The rest remained behind to search for the thieves."

"And how many of them died?"

"Two, my lady."

"Your Worship," the healer tending him corrected him gently.

Evelyn shook her head at the woman. "Arms? Armor?"

"None, my l—Your Worship. They were just townsfolk. We tried not to kill any of 'em but one of them got trampled by a horse and the other one was a mage. He started hucking great fireballs at us and, well…" He shrugged.

Evelyn nodded a little, eyes distant in thought. She turned to the messenger. "Have Leliana send word that they may keep the supplies with our compliments, and suggest that if they have so many able-bodied fighters, some would be welcome in Skyhold. If only to take the places of those wounded in their raid."

"At once, Inquisitor." He bowed and sprinted for the keep.

"I suppose I ought to get used to it," she continued to Cullen as if they hadn't been interrupted, gesturing toward the keep as she continued walking. The constant breeze sent locks of her hair spinning and twisting around her head. "Everyone being so concerned who I'm with, I mean. I don't have a private life anymore. Sometimes it still feels so surreal. I try and focus on what's important, closing the rifts, but it comes with all this… this…" 

She looked around. "Well, all this. And everyone sees me how they want to see me, regardless of who I am. It's like waking up one day to have the entire world raving about the wonderful soufflés you make when you've never cooked a day in your life."

"And they all want you to cook another one."

"And all I can think is, what are all you people doing on my lawn?" 

"Inquisitor, I must protest."

"Must you?" she muttered before schooling her expression and turning toward the gowned woman picking her way across the muddy courtyard. Cullen chuckled, then hid it in a cough.

"My only son has informed me he wishes to join the army!"

"Congratulations."

"It will not do!"

"What's this?" Cullen asked, brow lowering.

The woman's mask flashed in the early afternoon sun as she tossed her head. "He is the sole heir to our property. What if he should be killed? What shall we do?"

"Perhaps what the grieving mothers of all the innocents killed in this war do, when want of one sword could have saved their children," Cullen suggested.

Evelyn laid a hand on his arm, but addressed the woman. "I know it's terrifying for you, but his aim is a noble one and you are to be commended for raising a child of such strength of character." 

She glanced around and her eyes lit on Mother Giselle. Catching the cleric's attention, she gestured her over. "Here. You must speak with Mother Giselle. She is of particular comfort to me in these times, and I'm certain she will help you understand the sacrifices required of us all."

Mother Giselle nodded her understanding to Evelyn and took the woman by the arm, leading her toward the gardens, murmuring quietly to her.

Evelyn resumed her walk toward the keep, Cullen keeping pace with her. "I wonder how they did it," she mused.

"Who?"

"Hawke, for one. She went from penniless refugee to the Champion of Kirkwall. To read Varric's book, you'd think she never had a moment's uncertainty. She just went forth and conquered in sweeps of her sword. Slavers in my family's mansion? Right, I'll fix that. Qunari uprising? Hold my tea."

"Maybe you could ask him. I'm sure he'd speak honestly with you."

She arched an eyebrow at him.

"All right," he conceded, "maybe not honestly exactly, but he'd be flattered and that might be worth a few moments of straight talk."

A soldier strode up to them and saluted. "Inquisitor. Commander Cullen, sir, we have the troop estimates from Teyrn Cousland, and Ser Morris says we've no room to bivouac them. He says to ask you where to put them all."

Cullen shrugged at her with a faint smile. "Duty calls."

She sighed, a bit more relief in the sound than was seemly. "At least this one's all yours."

"Thank you, Inquisitor." 

She kept walking alone as Cullen and the soldier headed off toward Cullen's tower office, then climbed the stairs toward the keep, stopping beside Bull. The giant mercenary sat on the landing, feet hanging, sharpening his axe blade. "Good afternoon, Bull," she said.

"Inquisitor."

A messenger scampered down the stairs from the keep and looked around. His gaze brightened when he saw Evelyn.

Bull extended his axe and angled his whetstone, drawing a particularly loud scrape from the silvered, sharp edge.

The messenger paled and eased backward, returning inside.

"Subtle," she said.

"Why be subtle when you can be scary?"

She sat next to him, close enough to him that when he moved his arm, it brushed her side. Some of the tension she had begun to think of as normal seeped away. She barely even noticed the constant headache she had these days, not until the muscles of her back and neck began to unknot and the pressure faded.

"Saw you with Cullen," he said.

"Jealous?"

"You're funny," he said, patting her shoulder. "I suppose that's how it always is."

She blinked at him. "Talking to Cullen?"

Bull grunted, but offered no explanation.

"You know, you used to call me 'Boss' more."

He puffed air across the blade, blowing away a bit of stone dust. "That was before I decided I knew what you needed better than you did," he said. "You might get confused if I called you that. Inquisitor keeps things nicely separate."

She conceded the point with a flick of one hand. "My father was both my father and the bann," she said. "He'd yell at me in private, but in public we were House Trevelyan."

"You probably got yelled at a lot. Aren't you Ostwick people all holy and pious? How'd you end up a non-believer?"

"This may shock you," she said, "but I'm something of a rebel."

He snorted.

"Father said my mother spoiled me. Youngest child, only girl, my mother was a Marcher's daughter so I ran wild and she let me. He insisted I go to the Chantry. Heir and a spare for the city, the rest of us Templars or Sisters. Fortunately, the Revered Mother wouldn't have me. Said I was for the Templars if anything."

"But you didn't go."

She shook her head. "The weapons master, Korin – I told you a little of him – he said if they tried to stuff me in a full suit of plate and stick a sword in my hand, I'd be dead in my first battle. While they tried to sort out what should be done with me, I spent time with disreputable sorts."

"He should have spanked you more." Bull gave her a sideways smile. "I could make up for that lack."

"Try it and you lose a horn."

"We'll see."

She ignored the prickles up her spine. "Anyway, they had just about decided to marry me off when they sent me to the Conclave with some of my…" She faltered.

He set the axe aside. When she didn't speak, he prompted her. "You had family at the Conclave."

She nodded, staring at but not seeing a patch of dappled sunlight. "I had cousins among the Templars there. Berrinard gave me my first real piece of jewelry, a brooch I still have. And there was an aunt there who used to sneak me the most horrible books of love poetry you've ever read. I suppose I should be grateful there's not much time to think on such things or I'd become impossibly maudlin."

"It's not maudlin to honor the memory of your fallen."

"The good news is my father's ridiculously proud of me now. Apparently, Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste outranks Templar any day."

"And your mother?"

"Still wants me to get married, though she's setting her sights a bit higher these days. If you see a somewhat confused archer with a Starkhaven accent wandering around, have him pitched out into the snow."

"I'll tell the Chargers."

"Other than that, what are your plans for today?"

"Well," he said, picking up his axe again and fitting the long handle back into its sheath, "I thought I'd take you to your room and see how many different noises you can make in the course of one afternoon."

She smiled at the idea. "Parts of me approve of your plan," she said, "but duty calls. In fact, I should probably get back to it."

"It's not your job to pry out every splinter someone gets under their skin." He rose to his feet. "Let's go."

She blinked at the muscles of his back shifting under his skin. "What, you were serious?"

"When it comes to this, I'm always serious."

"But I can't possib—" 

"Trust me."

"What if that messeng—"

"Evelyn," he warned.

"You know someone's going to come up with something for me to do if we go through the main hall," she said, climbing to her feet.

"No," he said, reaching back for her hand. "They won't."

Her fingers vanished in his broad palm, and he walked up the remainder of the stairs and through the central hall of Skyhold in giant strides. Evelyn scrambled to keep up, taking a running step or two to avoid being dragged.

Fans blossomed around the masked faces of courtiers in the hall, whispers and giggles exchanged behind them all. Evelyn's face burned.

Nor did Bull slow until they were behind the topmost door of her room. He jerked her arm, pulling her against his chest, his other hand burying in her unbound hair. "See?" he said. "No one said a thing."

"They said plenty," she said with a laugh, "we just couldn't hear them."

"Whatever." He kissed her once, slowly, parting her lips with the tip of his tongue. It always caught her by surprise, those kisses, sensual when she expected hard and bruising. His hand in her hair kept her head tilted at an angle that pleased him, a demand she was more than happy to obey given the rewards. She wanted to strip off her court clothes, wanted to feel the heat of his skin against hers, but he seemed in no hurry to explore anything other than the shape of her mouth, the taste of her lips.

"Shouldn't you be taking my clothes off about now?" she whispered.

"You're too tense," he replied. He didn't let her back away, though, keeping his hand in her hair. He tugged her head lightly to one side. "It's no fun if you're tense."

She slid her arms around to his back, fingers tracing the lines of muscle that shifted under his skin, ridges of old scars, the heavy strap of leather that held his weapon to his back. "I think the relaxation part comes after. It's hot in here, Bull, please can—"

It was hot in her rooms. It was never hot in her rooms. She pulled away from him a little, not that he gave her much freedom of motion, so she could turn toward the fireplace. It blazed high, stacked with wood, a larger pile waiting next to it.

"Bull?"

"Hmm?" he said against her neck.

"Did you—" She tried to pull further away, but he set his other hand on her butt and held her close. The prickles of his scruff scratched against her neck, the sensation mingling with the feel of his tongue and lips teasing her skin. Her eyes drifted closed and she felt her bones soften. Her body shifted fractionally, fitting her closer to him.

"Better," he murmured. Still nuzzling and kissing her neck, he released her to unfasten the top few hooks on her shirt, tugging it open to give him better access to her collarbone. Another hook slipped open, and he dipped his tongue down to the valley between her breasts.

Her hands tightened against his back, nails sliding lightly over the play of muscle. His teeth caught the swell of one breast, not sharp enough to be a nip but enough to make her suck in a breath.

He walked her backwards to the bed, undoing another fastening with every step, tugging at her shirt and letting it fall away. The mattress bumped into the backs of her knees, but he kept her upright when she would have dropped backwards. His lips returned to hers as he worked the laces on her pants, and she returned his kisses with hungry fever. The strap over his shoulder made for a useful handhold; she wrapped one hand around it, pulling herself up to rise on her toes, keeping her mouth on his when he straightened.

Rather than start a struggle over the strap, he undid the buckle that held his weapon harness on and shrugged out of it, then knelt to take off her boots. Hints of his own impatience showed; normally he touched her carefully, gently, treating even her clothes as if they were frangible. This time, he simply undid the lacing then yanked her boots off and threw them aside, pants still tangled over them.

Finally she was naked. Unprompted, she slid backwards on the deep red bedcovers and stretched herself out atop them.

There was no doubting his reaction to her. He clenched his hands into massive fists and drew a breath that seemed to take up all the oxygen in the room. "You're like something out of a tale," he said, husky and low. "Like a wisp, all curve and slender nothingness. Sometimes I think if I touch you, you'll vanish."

Slowly he reached out to her, one hand splaying across her torso. "You feel like velvet and silk. Soft, like a kitten. Cool at first, but you heat up under my hand."

His hand dragged up to her right breast, fingers caressing the rounded outside curve of it while his thumb began slow, maddening strokes across and around her nipple. Her back arched, offering herself to his hand. "You make me want to do some very dark things to you, Evelyn," he murmured. "It's so easy to forget how fragile you are."

"So forget," she said, sliding her left hand up his arm and dragging her nails back down. "I'm not a wisp, I'm bone and flesh." Pressure on his wrist encouraged his hand to slide lower, down her torso. "Break me if you can. Please try."

His eyes were on her hand, fascinated by it. "No," he said. Then he looked back at her and smiled, dangerous and dark. "And you are supposed to be quiet."

He bent and pulled her breast band out of a pile of clothes. Resting one knee on the bed, he leaned over her. "Sit up," he said.

She obeyed, propping her hands behind her and tilting her head back to kiss him.

The leather band touched her lips.

Evelyn jerked her head away.

Bull dropped one end of the leather to grab her head, knotting her loose hair in his hand. He yanked backward, supporting her weight on his forearm, baring her throat to him. "Never pull away from me," he said mildly.

He held her like that for three long breaths. Evelyn didn't struggle, just looked up at him, her only movement the slide of her legs on the heavy fabric as she stroked her thighs against each other.

He released her to take up the strap of leather again and lift it to her mouth. Long enough to wind, twist, and knot around her torso, the band went around her head several times. He took his time wrapping it, ensuring it was below her nostrils, the knot secured at the nape of her neck.

"Can you breathe?" he asked, running a finger under the top of the band to check the fit.

She nodded.

He set the palm of his hand in the center of her chest and pushed her flat to the bed, but didn't remove it when she lay under his hand. He held her there, pinned.

Evelyn looked up at him, nostrils flaring as she pulled in deeper breaths. When he did nothing but look at her, she reached up for him.

"I wouldn't," he warned. "Or maybe you should. I'd enjoy that. You, not so much." He smiled at her, that slow evil smile that made her body heat up. "Not yet, anyway."

She thought about it, or tried to. But she couldn't focus her thoughts, couldn't even decipher what he meant. She could only stare up at him over the leather gag.

He knelt beside the bed, then reached out and wrapped a hand around her ankle, pulling her body toward him. He slid his hands under her thighs, lifted her legs. His touch slid to her knees, her calves. He set them on his shoulders.

The implications hit her like a drug. Her hands clenched, grabbing fistfuls of blanket. she suddenly couldn't get enough air, her chest rising and falling with each rapid breath. Her eyes closed.

She felt the heat of his tongue, the prickles from his beard. Stubble rasped across the tender flesh of her inner thigh as his kisses brushed higher. Her legs shook, muscles jumping in anticipation, and she had no control left to prevent the stream of pleading whimpers that slipped past the gag over her mouth.

His tongue flicked over her clit, little licks of heat that made her hips buck. His hands clamped down on them, fingers tightening over her hip bones, holding her still. She strained against his hands, desperate to get closer to his mouth, pitting her strength against his.

She lost. He held her easily, moving at his own teasing pace. Sometimes soft, sometimes hard, quick curls of his tongue or slow motions that made her fight his hold on her. Her fisted hands swept across the mattress, twisting the bedcovers in her desperation to get what she wanted from him.

When her muffled sounds became one long wordless plea, he settled his mouth over her clit, kissing and sucking, licking her steady and deep. He slid one thick, strong finger into her, thrusts timed to the motion of his mouth. 

Evelyn's hips rose the moment he released them, pressing herself closer against him, rocking with his thrusts. She smacked her hands into the bed repeatedly, fingers digging into the sheets.

Bull raised higher on his knees, no longer bending over the bed, tilting her body back. Her legs tightened to hold her in place, ankles locking together behind his back, and only her shoulder blades and the back of her head touched the mattress. Another finger slipped into her, his hand moving harder, knuckles slamming against her. 

He stopped.

Evelyn's sound of frustrated denial had no where to go, and she ate her own scream. Glassy-eyed, she stared at the canopy over her bed, barely heard his chuckle. Her body crumpled as it flowed back away from the edge of orgasm. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she looked down the length of her body at him.

He was watching her, waiting for her to look at him. The moment she was, he moved his fingers in her, making her body jump. When she managed to keep her eyes open, his movement deepened, his fingers withdrawing and sliding back into her.

Her body rolled, a sinuous wave of motion. Her eyelids fluttered.

He stopped.

With a sharp inhale, she jerked her eyes open again, staring at him.

He lowered his head, keeping his eye on hers.

Evelyn fought for focus, tried not to move her body to block the sight of his lips on her. The heat of his mouth was panacea for the torture of its absence, for the feel of his fingers leaving her. His hands took up their place on her hips again.

His tongue brushed her, painted her aching flesh with strokes of pleasure. Slow, then faster, then mingled with flicks and twists of the tip of his tongue. His gaze didn't let her look away from him, from seeing the subtle movements of his head. 

Not until her climax smashed into her, snapping her spine nearly double. His grip tightened on her, her body arching, shoulders shoved deep into the mattress. She burned, molten steel edged with winter ice, seared in waves that arced through her, one after another, each causing another convulsion of her body.

He didn't relent, not until her muscles refused to cooperate, not until her legs started to slip from his shoulders. His lips brushed her clit, soft kisses that shook her to her core. Gently, he lowered her legs to the bed.

She didn't notice at first when he slipped away from her, turned her to lie properly on the bed. Her mind was a hazy blur of bone-deep pleasure and satiation. She heard him walk away, heard the sounds of wood being tossed into the fireplace, but couldn't attach meaning to the noises. She didn't understand anything but the feel of her pulse in the swollen flesh of her labia, the tiny twitches of exhausted thigh muscles, then the radiating heat of him stretching out next to her on the bed.

She sighed, long and deep, only then realizing that the gag was gone. It didn't seem important, though. She rolled over into him, curling against him and draping a leg over him.

He shifted her enough to burrow an arm under her and tug her head to rest on his chest.

Her hand stroked the muscles of his stomach, explored the diagonal mar of scar tissue. He didn't speak. She wasn't sure she could.

Eventually, his voice rumbled under her ear. "Shouldn't you get back to work?" he asked.

"No," she mumbled. "Screw 'em."

His chuckle was soundless, but she could feel it. "Ah, Evelyn. Good girl. But someone's knocked three different times since we got up here."

They had? That seemed like something she should think was important. Struggling through the lassitude, she tried to lift her head. "Three times?"

He crooked his arm and palmed her skull, pushing her head back down. "Mm hmm."

"Dorian," she said after a minute. "They'll send him."

"Nah. A Tevinter interrupt sex? Never happen. My bet's on Leliana. Hard to shock one of those Orlesian bards. Besides, she picks locks."

"You locked the door?"

"Yes, Inquisitor, he did."

It should have startled her, should have sent her scrambling for some kind of cover, but Leliana's light voice did neither. Instead, Evelyn cracked an eye open to see the composed woman at the foot of the bed.

"See?" Bull rumbled. "When it's important, they send someone important. Otherwise, you can ignore it."

"Perhaps not ignore it, Bull," Leliana chided.

"Ignore it," he advised Evelyn. "But now that she's here…"

"All right," she sighed. "I think I can walk."

"I'll find your shirt," Bull said, kissing the top of her head before letting her go and rising from the bed himself.

Leliana held it up. "I believe the Inquisitor and I can manage from here," she said.

"Use me, then kick me out. It's hard being a piece of meat. Spymaster," he said, dipping his head in farewell.

Evelyn took the shirt and struggled into it, attempting to make her reluctant limbs move in the right directions. Then she slid from the bed and reached for her pants. "Might as well fill me in," she said while she dressed.

"There is word from the scouts in the Emerald Graves," she said. "The others are waiting in the war room."

She stomped her feet into her boots. "All right," she said, standing carefully. "I'm read—" She stopped, blinking at the idea that appeared in her head. "Oh," she said. Then she laughed at herself, turning her lively grin on Leliana. "Did that messenger find you? The one I sent about the attack in Bywater?"

Puzzled, she nodded. "Of course."

"Did you send your reply yet?"

"Not yet."

"Good." Evelyn strode across the room and started down the stairs. "We'll send Teyrn Cousland's men, mounted up on the horses that Dennet feels would do better in the lowlands than in all this ice. They can deliver the message and train any volunteers to become soldiers instead of bandits, all while securing the route from Ostwick. Three problems, one solution, you see?"

"But Inquisitor?"

Evelyn stopped at the bottom of the stairs, hand on the door to the main hall. "What? It's perfect."

"It's an excellent solution, Inquisitor, but you might want to remove the gag before you step out."

Evelyn looked down, only then feeling the touch of leather around her neck. Bull hadn't untied it, had just slipped it off her mouth. Now she blushed, felt her skin blaze red. She fumbled with it, fingers plucking frantically at the knot.

After a moment, Leliana cleared her throat. "Perhaps if I—"

"No no, thank you just the same." Evelyn said. "I'm quite certain this is humiliating enough."

Leliana made a noise, and Evelyn looked up to find the redhead covering her mouth with slender fingers, eyes dancing merrily, shoulders shaking.

Wincing, Evelyn tried to yank it, but the leather had stretched and the knot was pulled tight. "Oh shut up."

"Of course, Inquisitor. I'll just go tell the others you're a little tied up and will be along momentarily." The slender bard stepped out into the hall.

Evelyn stared at the door. She wouldn't. Would she?

With a curse, Evelyn sprinted for the knife on her desk.


	7. Day Seven

For all of Skyhold's rambling nature, finding any true moment of privacy was difficult, to say the least. The gardens were always tenanted, and the courtyard was never still no matter the time of night. The armory worked in shifts making arms and armor for the changing needs of the Inquisition, and the practice grounds could only hold so many at a time. Cullen had worked out a rotation for them, deciding it would be no bad thing for some soldiers to have extensive experience in night fighting.

With so many people up and about, the kitchens also had two shifts (but only one Cook). The battlements were patrolled, the central tower in the keep had researchers coming and going at all hours, not to mention emergency messages for Leliana, and the infirmary of course knew no rest.

She could have escaped to her rooms, Evelyn knew. There weren't more than a handful of people who would disturb her there. But she was too easily found there, and sometimes she had to steal some time to hear only her own thoughts.

So she came to the Undercroft.

Neither Dagna nor Herritt bothered her during the day, being far too involved in their own tasks, and they eventually went to sleep, leaving the cavern empty.

She watched the waterfall, silvered and blue-white in the moonlight. With the forges quiet, it was cold in the damp room, and she had stolen a heavy blanket to wrap around herself, her hands holding a mug of tea that wasn't quite what one would call warm anymore.

For long minutes, Evelyn allowed herself the luxury of thinking about precisely nothing. The roar of the waterfall seemed to take up all the space in her mind, substituting its crash for her thoughts. She drifted, sitting on the edge of the broken floor, and listened to what the waterfall had to say.

"Inquisitor…"

Evelyn closed her eyes. Of course. "Leliana," she said, finally remembering to sip her tea.

"I'm sorry to disturb you."

"Not at all. It's late, though. I trust there's some emergency?"

"No. Not precisely."

Evelyn pivoted at the waist to look back at the spymaster, glanced down at the way her fingers twisted around each other. "Oh dear," she said mildly, turning back to the waterfall. "This can't be at all good."

"I wondered if we might talk."

"We are talking."

Though she hadn't heard Leliana approach, the slender Orlesian sat next to her. Some of her expression was obscured by the hood she wore.

"You might as well say it," Evelyn prompted as gently as she could. "It won't get better for sitting on it, whatever it is."

Leliana sighed. "No, I suppose not. You realize by now, I hope, that we have all accepted your relationship with the Iron Bull."

"Since I didn't leave you much choice in the matter, I'm pleased to hear it."

"Josie even thinks he's good for you. She says you've been more relaxed, happier. And I agree."

"I hardly think you tracked me down in the middle of the night to tell me sex agrees with me."

"No, Inquisitor."

Evelyn shook her head. "Oh no. If we're going to discuss my sex life, you cannot call me Inquisitor. Or Worship or whatever other ridiculous name you people have come up with for me. Evelyn will do."

"Very well. Evelyn, then. It's just that the Iron Bull is so much more visible now. As your lover, he is the target of a great many eyes and many more whispers."

Ah, now the connection was a little clearer. "And you've heard some of those whispers, have you."

"I'm afraid I have."

"And I'll wager you've heard something disturbing enough that you investigated it, found it credible, and have brought it to me."

"It needn't sound so awful," Leliana said. "It's my job, after all, to protect the Inquisition, to protect you. I trade greatly in secrets and rumor. I would be a poor spymaster indeed if these whispers did not make their way to me, eventually."

Evelyn slid a hand through the air, wiping that all away with a gesture. "It's all right, Leliana. I wasn't criticizing, just cutting through some of the clutter. Very well, consider me braced. What's this credible rumor?"

"He has a lover," she said bluntly.

Evelyn blinked at Leliana.

"One of Cullen's soldiers. They've been discreet, but Skyhold has few places where one can hide, and they have been seen on more than one occasion."

Evelyn's head swam. She shook her head to try and clear it. "And you're certain?"

"I'm sorry, but I am. If I weren't, I would not have come to you."

"No," she said faintly. "No, I suppose not."

"I have told no one else. Not even Josie. I thought… I am sorry."

"I know."

She didn't look up when Leliana slipped away as silently as she had entered. Evelyn just watched the waterfall, glittering black with the moon's departure, and tried very hard not to think.

 

She had to knock twice before Bull's door opened. He rubbed his face with one hand, the other holding the handle of his axe. No light burned behind him, and the golden light of the lanterns in the hallways made him squint. "Evelyn?"

"I believed Dorian without speaking to you, let it fester in me all day like a bee sting, when I should have come to you right off. So this time I'm coming here first, before I get ahead of myself."

He scowled up and down the hallway. "Too bright," he declared, setting his palm on her shoulder and steering her inside.

His room still felt small to her. Then again, most of it was taken up with the only bed in the entire keep sized for a Qunari. Though from the look of it, he had been sleeping on the floor. His blankets were folded into a tidy mat near the fireplace, another blanket disarranged over it where he had evidently shoved it upon getting up to answer the door.

The fire had died down to only embers, but he squatted to shove some wood into the ashes and stir it up, waiting until the smaller pieces had caught before he gestured her close. 

Evelyn sat on the blankets, didn't object as he wrapped one around her.

He yawned. "All right. Go."

"Leliana told me you have a lover."

"No," he said, scrubbing at his eye. "It's a woman I have sex with."

She stared at him.

He blinked at her. "What?"

"All this time… I can't believe…" She shook her head, still staring at him.

"Well what do you think I do when I leave you, roll around naked in snowbanks?"

She flinched from him. "You'd… After yesterday, when you left me, after all that, you went to…"

"Are you telling me you thought I just wasn't getting hard? You have a serious self-esteem problem, Evelyn."

"Do not make a joke of this!" She stood in one smooth flex of her legs, dropping the blanket to the floor, warmed by her fury.

He stood as well, though more confused than angry. For now. "I'm not making a joke of it, I'm trying to understand what kind of self-control you think I have. Six days of teasing you, stroking you, kissing you, feeling you around my fingers, having you all but beg me for it? I'd be insane by now if I didn't blow off some steam."

Her right cross was fast, tightly controlled, making use of every ounce of energy her body could muster. From the set of her feet to the twist of her hips and shoulders, it was the perfect direction of force and acceleration. Cullen had dropped.

Bull's head snapped around, then whipped back to her. "Nice shot, Evelyn!" he said, grinning at her as he rubbed his jaw. "I felt that."

"If you want sex, you should be coming to me, not leaving me in my bed to go fuck some soldier!"

Now he was angry. "This is not about sex!" he roared. "I won't put up with it from that conniving little shit of a dwarf, I won't take it from you. Simple-minded, uptight, frustrated little… humans!" He took her wrist. "Come with me," he said.

A flick of her hand and twist of her arm shook him free. "You do not get to tell me what to do right now," she snapped.

He wrapped his hand around her waist and pivoted, twisting her over his hip and dropping her onto the mattress. His body loomed over hers, though he did not pin her. His nose touched hers, and his hand immediately gentled, stroking up her torso.

Her response was as immediate as his. It had nothing to do with thought, with circumstance. She was still angry and hurt, but she knew this moment. Her body knew it, this pose. Her lying prone, him over her, the feel of his hand. It knew what came next. What always came next.

Anger fluttered like a bird's wings against a soaring tide of hunger and need. Evelyn struggled to reach it through the lust.

"I always get to tell you what to do, Evelyn," he said, voice pitched low and husky, the very sound of it rippling through her. 

He didn't kiss her. She wanted the taste of his mouth. She drew her lips in to moisten them, a movement as involuntary as the subtle rise and fall of her hips. She thought about hitting him again, right in his bastard nose. That would set him back. His hand brushed her breast and she caught her breath.

"The look in your eyes," he growled, his smile lean and predatory. "So pissed off and so full of hunger. Angry sex with you is going to be worth it."

Abruptly, he straightened away from her. "Now come with me."

She didn't argue when he took her wrist this time, nor when he dragged her through the keep. At one point, he paused to murmur something to a drowsy messenger who nodded and darted off. 

Crowded as it was, even Skyhold needed a place to put broken furniture and pieces of statuary no one had figured out what to do with yet. The room Bull led Evelyn into was such a dumping ground, likely because no one wanted this particular set of rooms. Water had seeped in and continued to, though enough repair work had been done to let the water trickle back out again through a rather clever set of floor grooves. It was dim and dark, and all the items crammed in the room created bizarre shadows.

Bull sat Evelyn down in a chair with a splintered back. "Stay there," he ordered, then looked around, coming back with a fistful of rope that had likely come from one of the heavy curtains that had decayed. It was gold and braided and seemed sturdy enough that someone had deemed it worth saving, though not of immediate use.

Not to them, anyway.

Bull doubled the rope and ran it under one arm of the chair, then looped it over her wrist. He slid the tasseled ends through the loop and tugged, pulling it snug though not tight. Then he ran the ends in the opposite direction, pulling them back through and snugging them again. When he ran out of rope, he did the same to her other wrist with another cord.

Evelyn examined the knots while he worked. They were knots, not really, but her wrist was as secured as if he'd manacled her to the chair. She tried to move her arm, found she had some limited range. Her blood flow wasn't constricted. She just couldn't move.

He worked quickly, securing her ankles as well. Not until then did it occur to her to object, but before she could, he grasped one of her sleeves at the shoulder just above and below the seam and pulled. Once it was free, he did the same to the other sleeve.

"Bull!"

"Quiet," he said.

One of the sleeves he folded into a long rectangle and placed over her mouth, using the other sleeve to secure it.

Then he left her there and walked to the other side of the room, lighting a lantern she hadn't seen. Warm light illuminated that end, casting Evelyn into even darker shadow.

The door opened.

"It's late," a woman said. "I was surprised to hear from you."

"Thought your shift ended about now. Figured it couldn't hurt to see if you had some time."

She chuckled. "Oh, for this, I can always find some time."

Evelyn saw Bull walk toward the door, then lost him as he moved behind some furniture. She could just see the tops of his horns. 

But she could hear. She heard the rattle of chain mail, the hiss of leather sliding over leather, the clink of a buckle. She heard a heavier thunk as something dropped to the floor. And she heard them kiss.

The woman laughed again. "Always so impatient. You really have to do something about your Inquisitor."

"Believe me, I'm trying."

She gasped, a shuddering indrawn breath. "Maybe I shouldn't encourage you," she said softly. "I'm going to miss these little meetings."

Suddenly, they swung into view. Bull carried the woman to an old table, setting her on it, her profile to Evelyn. "Nah," he said between kisses. "You've ridden the Bull. You'll have your pick of studs."

"Oh god, that phrase. Must you—" 

She knew her, Evelyn realized. The army had grown so quickly, so much it wasn't possible for Evelyn to know all of the soldiers, but she recognized this woman. She had been at Haven, one of the few to escape. Evelyn's hands clenched. Had she been a mage, the soldier would have exploded into a gory shower of meat and bone shards all over Bull.

Only the utter humiliation of being discovered kept her quiet. She couldn't escape, could not make any kind of dignified exit. So she sat in sick disbelief that he would make her see this, make her watch him seduce another woman, the kisses and caresses and slow, torturous build to climax.

They kissed some more, touched each other. Evelyn's blood boiled with fury, with jealousy and pain. She dreaded the next hours, but had no way to escape it. Next, he would undress her, patient and slow, and she closed her eyes.

The sounds she heard opened them again. That fast, that soon, Bull had turned the woman around, had her flipped over the table. One hand was on his cock, guiding it into her. His other hand was on her hip, pulling her back as he entered her in a series of small thrusts. Gasps and grunts, his and hers, melded together.

Sheathed deeply inside her, Bull moved his hand around to the front, burying it between her thighs. She bit her lips to muffle her cries, head thrown back, eyes closed. His hand worked on her as his hips rocked, ass clenching and releasing with each thrust.

His speed increased. Her hips pushed back against him, the slap of flesh on flesh loud in the cluttered room. The soldier bit her own hand to keep from crying out, but couldn’t stop her body from shuddering, muscles tightening down her back to arch her spine. Bull slammed into her three more times before his own climax took him, muffling a growl of pleasure by clenching his jaw shut.

They remained frozen like that for long seconds that stretched out, Bull's hips rocking against her once, twice. Then they separated. He backed away just enough to help her straighten and turn. They spoke softly to each other, words Evelyn couldn't hear and didn't want to. He pulled up his pants while she straightened her clothes. Then they kissed, soft and long, and he shook his head at something she said, leaning back against the table, arms folded.

With a smile and a stroke of a hand across his chest, the woman stepped back toward the door. Evelyn heard the clink of armor again, then the door opened and closed.

Bull pushed off the table and picked up the lantern, walking back over to her. His expression was bland and empty, perfectly neutral. "That was sex," he said, untying his makeshift gag. "Since you seemed confused about the difference, I thought a demonstration was in order. It's sex with a friend because I'm not an asshole, but do you really think that's what is happening between you and me, that that's what we have?"

He crouched and looked at her, lifting a thumb to brush away a tear from her cheek. "What we have is something different," he said, staring at her. "What we're making is something more."

"Love?" she asked softly, watching as he began to untie her wrists.

He snorted. "Love. Stupid human word that means nothing. People fall in and out of love constantly, like mindless butterflies. I love you, now I don't. I love him but he loves her and now he loves me and we're happy for about a year before we each love other people but are too stupid to say it, then people kill each other over it. Pathetic. I don't love you, Evelyn."

Her shoulders sagged. "Then I don't under—"

"That's because there's no word for it with you people," he said, undoing the last of her bindings. His fingers stroked her wrists, brushing over the marks left by the rope. "You don't understand commitments. Permanence. Ownership is close, but it's wrong. It implies I can sell you or give you away, but that is the complete opposite of this. Mastery is close, but you can master something you don't keep."

"Is there a word for it in Qunari?"

"Sure," he said, taking her other hand in his, turning them so he could see the marks better. "Kas-berasala." He lifted her wrists to his mouth, brushed his lips over one, then the other, tracing the indentations in her skin with his lips.

She still couldn't, or didn't want to, understand. Remnants of anger, betrayal, tingles of desire sparking from the touch of his lips, all swirled around inside her, balled up in a mass of confusion. 

He looked up at her face. "You still haven't really heard me. Or you don't believe me," he sighed. "I keep telling you, but it's not getting through. I will not lie to you. It doesn't work, this thing, if I do."

"So I can lie to you?" she asked, the tiniest hint of humor in her quiet question.

"Not really, no. You're a terrible liar. That's why you keep losing at Wicked Grace." He stroked a finger along her jawline, and she had to fight to keep from leaning into the soft touch. "This isn't about sex. Get that through your head. Sex is the tool, the weapon sometimes. It's the way in."

"In where?"

"You. Your mind. Your heart. Your soul, I guess. I'll keep telling you until you believe me: I intend to own you, Evelyn. Not just fuck you."

"You don't own me," she said.

He quirked a smile at her. "Not yet." He straightened. "But I'm getting there." He held a hand out to her, but she stood without his help.

"Fine," she said. "Let's say I do believe you. Let's say you're right, and you can get in my head. Own me. What does it mean, though? You say permanence like you've already decided. Don't I get to choose? What do I get out of this?"

"You do choose," he said. "You choose every minute you spend with me. Come on, Evelyn. You've picked your way across entire battlefields unseen. You've killed Templars, mages, more demons than most people believe exist. You've never been helpless in this. But you want to be."

"I do not!"

He leaned back on a marble plinth, elbows behind him. "Yes, you do. It's all right, I get why you can't admit it. Like I said, you're too proud to come to this on your own. But you do want it, Evelyn. More importantly, you need it."

"That's absurd," she said. "No one likes being helpless."

He snorted. "You can't be that naïve. Remember that cult in the Hinterlands? They worshipped Andraste, then they worshipped the rifts, now they worship you. They all want to be helpless, they all want to surrender to something stronger than they are. Then they have no power, so they aren't responsible for anything that goes wrong. They don't have to try, don't have to fight, because it's all in someone else's hands."

"Thank you for the comparison, that's very flattering."

"Everyone wants it, Evelyn," he said quietly. "Sooner or later, everyone needs to give up control. For me, that was when I went to the Ben-Hassrath. For you, that time is now."

He started to say something else, then stopped himself. "One of us is very bad at words," he said. "Let's go."

She balked. "I am not going to watch you have sex with anyone else."

"What? No! At least not that soon, but, hey, thanks." He grinned at her. "Although another few minutes of watching you tied to that chair probably would have done it for me. Just obey."

He took her hand this time, not her wrist, and walked with her back to his rooms. There, he sat her on his bed and took off her boots for her, stopping her when she tried to protest. He didn't linger over undressing her, but he did make her stand for it.

The room was freezing and she shivered uncontrollably. Bull picked her up and put her in the bed, then snagged his makeshift bedroll from the floor and settled the blankets over her, only then climbing onto the bed himself. 

With one arm, he pulled her closer, dragging her across the bare mattress to his side.

She lay stiff and uncomfortable against him, trying not to curl into his body heat.

He ignored it, settling himself in to sleep.

"You don't like sleeping on beds," she said eventually.

"Nope."

"Won't you be uncomfortable?"

"You think this is uncomfortable, you should've seen me trying to walk upright when Leliana kicked me out of your room yesterday. This is nothing."

Hesitantly, she set her hand on his chest, her head pillowed on one enormous bicep.

"I don't like being helpless," she said again.

"Mm hmm."

"And I don't see how any of this is my choice."

"Mm."

"I've tried to say no."

"Evelyn."

"What?"

"Shut up and go to sleep."

She was tired. It was late, so late it was almost early. Her emotions had been slapped around like a kitten playing with a ball of yarn. The bed had warmed rapidly next to the furnace of his body heat and, like it or not, she loved the scent of him, the feel of his skin, the touch of his fingers stroking her arm lightly.

She felt safe here. 

Evelyn did as she was told, and slept.


	8. Day Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (For the love of god, do NOT do this at home. You'll hurt somebody.)

Evelyn woke to a hand stroking her bare hip.

She wasn't confused about where she was. She didn't wonder why she wasn't in her rooms or what had happened or who was beside her. Her dreams had been full of uneasiness and uncertainty, and she woke with the heartache of yesterday still echoing inside of her.

During the night she had turned away from him, but was snuggled up with her back against his side, hugging his arm, nose buried in his bicep. Those were the fingers on her skin tracing idle patterns. She didn't move yet, just waited to see how she felt.

She hadn't forgiven, she decided. Or forgotten. But maybe she understood why he needed the release. In time, she thought, she might even understand more. When it didn't feel quite so much like a betrayal. When making her see it didn't feel quite so cruel. Then again, would she have understood? Would she have believed?

He was awake, she was sure of that. He likely knew she was awake as well. Still, neither of them spoke. To speak was to acknowledge that they had to somehow move on, Evelyn thought. She closed her eyes again and said the first thing that came to mind, just to break the silence before it became too heavy.

"You snore," she said.

"You farted."

That surprised a laugh out of her, and she twisted at the waist. "Bull!"

"What? You did."

"But you're not supposed to talk about it!"

He flexed his arm and rolled her completely atop his chest. His other hand came around to push her hair out of her eyes. "You have a lot of rules," he said, smiling at her.

She levered herself up on her forearms, unsurprised to find that he was more than broad enough for her to rest comfortably atop him. Her eyes traced the crags and scars of his face, the scruff heavier for a night's growth, and her smile faded. "You have to give her up, you know," she said quietly.

"I know," he said.

She waited for him to say more.

His smile gentled. "It's just sex, Evelyn. It helps me keep a clear head dealing with you, but I can find another way."

Evelyn looked down at her fingertips and drew tiny circles on his chest. "I was thinking about when we first met. In Haven, when we talked. You said that you could go to the Tamassrans to 'pop your cork'. You said it's rather like visiting a healer, for Qunari."

He waited, still stroking her hair.

"I know I shouldn't hold you to human standards, but I don't think it's fair of you to expect me to react like a Qunari, either."

"I don't, I promise you. But I do need to crack that narrow worldview of yours, that human morality."

"Why?"

"Because it's killing you," he said.

She studied his expressions but found no trace of humor in him, had no sense that he was exaggerating or engaging in hyperbole. "You mean that."

He nodded a little and twined a lock of her hair around one of his fingers.

Evelyn shifted, then set her head down on his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat and trying not to wonder if she oughtn't be a little afraid.

He left off toying with her hair to drape both arms over her, holding her close.

"Are you uncomfortable?" she asked, voice a little muffled.

"Very."

She tried to push herself up, a task made more difficult for the added weight of his arms. "Am I too heavy?" she asked.

He chuckled. "I've eaten steaks bigger than you."

"Is it the bed making you uncomfortable? I could have someone remove it."

"It's not the bed," he said. Then he laughed again. "It's morning," he said. "You're naked and on top of me. Woman, sometimes you really don't have a clue what you do to me."

"We could just have sex, you know."

He dropped a hand lower to smack her bare rump. "In time. Anyway, I don't know why you're complaining. I take care of you."

Evelyn tried not to squirm, then decided that squirming could only help her cause and indulged. Just a little. "You could at least explain why you're making me wait."

"I already told you."

"You never!"

"What's step one?"

"What?"

"Go on. Step one. In the tavern."

"Oh," she frowned a little as she thought. "Establish dominance early. Which I suppose you're under some great delusion you've done."

"Yes, completely deluded. And step two?"

She tried to think, but he hadn't taken his hand off her backside, was stroking the curve of it, tracing the crease where buttocks met thigh. "You're not making it easy for me to concentrate, you know."

"It's good for you," he said. "Helps you develop focus."

Evelyn took a deep breath. Propped slightly up as she was, the inhale caused her breasts to brush his chest, and she got her reward when his hand spasmed. "Let's see now," she said, squirming again just for effect.

"Evelyn…"

"All right, all right. Step two. Always be associated with pleasure."

"Close," he said. "Never let yourself be associated with anything but pleasure. And I did say I was simplifying things a bit."

"Yes, well, you flubbed that one a few times."

"And yet, here you are. Naked. In my bed."

"Don't brag, it's unbecoming. And what does this have to do with why we can't have sex?"

"Because of step three."

"Step three?"

He smiled _that_ smile. The one that melted her spine, turned her brain into pudding. "Take what's yours," he said huskily. "When you're mine, then I'll take you. Not before."

"Sometimes I'm not sure how much more you want of me," she murmured. "I'm here. In your bed. Naked."

"Tonight," he promised her, stroking a finger down her spine. "I'll show you tonight."

 

Evelyn ate her breakfast standing up while someone measured her for new sleeves. She had to leave the rest of the shirt behind to be fitted, and ended up in a simple cotton shirt in place of her normal tunic. She debated asking for three or four of the things, but fabric was in short supply with the demands of the Inquisition. It felt needlessly wasteful to ask for changes of simple clothes when soldiers needed socks, cloaks, and as many blankets as they could scrounge up or make.

So she made do with her cotton shirt, wrapped herself in her traveling cloak, and tried not to freeze.

The entire day passed hunched over the war table, getting into fierce arguments over fine points of tactics with her advisors. Messages flowed into Skyhold daily, requests for aid or offers of assistance from rival factions. Each had to be carefully assessed, the repercussions weighed and understood before any decision could be reached. Should they send soldiers or spies? Would a bribe work or should they send a friend to intervene on the Inquisition's behalf?

Evelyn had learned that the point of advisors was that each would argue passionately from their particular strength. It was her job to weigh the benefits and costs, and make the final decisions. Sometimes the choice was clear to her, sometimes not, but she felt comfortable deferring a decision now when she hadn't always at first.

She pushed an empty plate out of her way, unable to remember what had even been on it, and set a colored bit of fabric under a marker. "I don't think we can be sure which is best for us. It might be time to placate the conservatives of Val Royeaux by backing their candidate, but there's little doubt of the malleability of—"

Josephine's stomach growled. 

The others looked at her.

She blushed, a faint pink tinge to her bronze skin, and pressed a hand to her stomach.

Soft laughter released tension, and Evelyn pushed back from the table with a wry smile. "I suppose that about sums it up," she said. "All right, we're just talking around in circles now. Cullen, issue that invitation to Jean-Gaspard and I'll trust you to keep him under control."

"Yes, Inquisitor."

"We'll discuss the other two candidates in more detail later. In the meantime, I think we could all stand to be out of this room for a few hours."

With various murmurs of assent, the others trailed out leaving Evelyn to stare at the counters. Carefully she ran a finger over the maps. So much land. So many markers now. She frowned a little, disturbed for no reason she could name.

"You're getting better at this," said Cullen behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder. "I thought you left."

"I wanted to speak with you. Privately."

Nodding, she turned to him and leaned back on the table. "What is it?"

"One of the soldiers requested a transfer this morning. Maerith," he said. "She came with us from Haven." He folded his hands lightly on the pommel of the sword hanging at his hip.

Sighing, Evelyn looked away from his steady gaze. "I didn't ask her to leave."

"She offered," he said. "She thought it would be easier on you, that you had enough problems."

"Did you know?" she asked. "About her and Bull."

"Not until she told me why she wanted to be assigned somewhere else. Do you really think I'd have kept it from you?"

She shook her head and looked at the floor. "I don't know, honestly," she admitted. "I know it's not always comfortable to discuss such things."

He took a step toward her. "Inquisitor. Evelyn. I'd like to think, despite anything else that may happen, we are at least friends."

Evelyn glanced up at him, at his uncertainty and light brown eyes, and found she could smile. "All right then," she said. "Friends it is."

"Good. As a friend, then—"

"Oh, don't ruin it already."

"As a friend," he said with more emphasis, "are you certain about this? That he's what you want?"

It was a fair question. It was one she'd asked herself at least twice in the past week. She thought again about the problems they had already faced, just because they had a different set of assumptions about the world. But the answer, whether to Cullen or to herself, was the same.

"No," she said. "But… I think he's what I need."

Cullen sighed a little. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Honestly, I'm not sure I do either," she admitted. "I just know how I feel when I'm with him. Even when I'm angry with him or upset. He makes me feel… Like I can breathe. Like…" Then she had it. "Myself. I feel like myself."

"And not a soufflé maker," Cullen added with a crooked smile.

Evelyn grinned. "Exactly."

"Then may a friend escort you to the dining hall, my lady? I understand someone sent a whole wagonload of frozen fish, and Cook's been making pies all day."

"Not a chance," Bull rumbled from the doorway. "Get your own inquisitor. This one's taken."

With a wry smile, Cullen bowed slightly to Evelyn and walked out of the war room.

"Always one I gotta chase off," Bull said, pushing away from the jamb and walking to her. He set his hands on her waist. "You all right? He didn't get any Ferelden on you, did he?"

"Any what?" she laughed. "No, I'm fine, I assure you."

"Good." He lifted her to sit on the war table. "Say now, this has possibilities…" He leaned in and down to kiss her, enough force behind the kisses to make her take hold of his weapon harness or get pushed backwards.

"We are not having sex on the table in the war room," she told him as sternly as she could between kisses. 

"You'd have sex with me anywhere I wanted," he said, "but it's probably best we don't. Cassandra would get mad. Red would get mad. Even Josephine would get mad and those Antivans fight dirty."

He took a step back from her and looked around. "So this is where you plot the fate of the world, huh? I thought there'd be more severed heads on the walls."

"I'll see what I can do," she said, swinging her legs a little as she watched him.

He moved to one side to look at the map. "Lotta map," he said. "Lotta lives."

"I was just thinking that," she said, sliding off the table and facing the map as well. "I'm not sure if I like how large this Inquisition has become. In the beginning, it was just so we could do what needed to be done. But so much of this…" 

She gestured, the sweep of her hand indicating the map, the counters. "Some of it, we still need. Like trying to get to Emprise du Lion. But the rest? Does it really matter? Do we really need it all?" She shook her head. "I can't tell anymore. Yet I'm the one who decides. I'm not sure, and I make the calls. That seems wrong, somehow."

He turned her away from the map and pulled her against him, his hand sliding through her hair, not incidentally blocking even a sidelong view of the table. "Let's go," he said, walking out of the room.

She had to go with him or get dragged by her head. "What happened to holding my hand?"

"I like your hair," he said. "It's silky, like—"

"If you say like a horse's mane, I'm going to kick you in the back of the knee."

"Vicious," he said with admiration.

"I feel ridiculous!"

"This isn't ridiculous," he said. Then he stopped and bent a little, turning and lifting to heft her over one shoulder. "Now this, _this_ is ridiculous."

If the sight of her hanging upside down over Bull's shoulder alarmed the guards in the main hall, her laughter reassured them, even muffled as it was. Nor did he release her until he flipped her back over his shoulder to fling her onto her bed. "There!" he said. "That was satisfying. I'm going to do that more often."

Evelyn sat up, then looked around at the bare posts of her bed, shaking her hair out of her face. Where heavy red velvet had once roofed her bed over, now there was an odd spider web of ropes that met in a steel ring in the center. "Bull? Where are my bed hangings?"

"Had to hide 'em," he said, moving to the fireplace to drop another wide quarter log onto the already blazing fire. "I took them down, and one of your people put them right back up again. Told me you got too cold in the mornings." He snorted. 

"I do get cold in the mornings. Those are very big windows and they don't quite seal like they should."

"I'll keep you warm."

"And you're going to sleep here every night?"

"Of course."

"Of course," she repeated, uncertainly. "Even though it means sleeping in a bed?"

"If your favorite—"

"If you compare me to a horse one more time, you'll wake up with your nipples stitched together."

He stopped and tilted his head. "Hm. I'm rubbing off on you. All right, then. If your favorite weapon needs sharpening and oiling, you do it. You don't complain that it's tedious. You keep it in a sheath made for it. You store it properly. You keep it ready and sharp, so when you need it, it responds the way you need it to."

"I suppose weapon is better than horse," she said.

"Much." He crooked a finger at her, and she rose from the bed to stand in front of him, reveling in the flutter of anticipation.

Her traveling cloak, he swept off her easily, tossing it aside to land on the couch. The shirt underneath had no buttons, was designed to have as few seams as possible. It went under her armor, so the fewer places that could chafe against her skin, the better.

"This, I like," he said, sliding his hands down the close fit of the shirt.

"It's apparently not dignified for—"

"Quiet," he said.

She clamped her lips together.

He began pulling her shirt off over her head. "Make fists," he said softly.

Evelyn closed her fingers, making fists of her hands. The sleeves slid down her arms, but the cuffs couldn't clear her fisted hands. Still he pulled, gently easing her arms behind her, tangled in her sleeves. The neck of the shirt covered her eyes.

He bent her backward, free hand sliding to the small of her bare back, fingers up her spine. His kiss was deep, intense, not the slow build of gentle kisses she had come to expect from him.

Her soft sound of pleasure was lost in his mouth. Behind her back, he took the length of her shirt in his hand on her back, moving his right hand to strip the leather off her chest, letting it fall to the floor. His fingers slid across the soft skin of her breast, teasing and stroking her nipple.

"There's something we should talk about."

She waited, eyes closed, lips parted.

"You listening?"

Evelyn nodded a little, the fabric over her eyes sliding a bit.

Bull huffed, a short laugh of regret and amusement. "Yeah, but you're listening wrong." His hand stroked down her bare torso, and she arched into the touch. "Damn. All right." 

He shoved her upright with the hand on her back and finished yanking the shirt off her. "Pay attention, Evelyn."

She blinked rapidly, squinting as if thrust suddenly into bright light. "I'm listening, I'm listening. What, already?"

"We're about to cross a line, and there are a couple of rules that we have to get clear." He nodded to the bed, and she sat on the edge of it, folding one leg up under her. When she was settled, he continued. "If I ever do anything that makes you uncomfortable, hurts you or frightens you, I want you to know you can make me stop."

"Frightens me? What in Thedas are you planning to do to me?"

"Focus on the other part," he said.

"I've always known I could make you stop, Bull."

"With a word. A specific word."

"I can't just say stop?"

He chuckled. "Lovers say that all the time. They rarely mean it. Same with 'no'. I want you to feel completely free to say anything, scream it if you want. So no, you can't just say stop. You need a watchword, something you wouldn't usually say during sex. I use 'katoh', but if it's too unfamiliar a word, you'll forget it just when you need it most. I'd rather use a word you come up with."

Uncertainly, Evelyn said, "Wouldn't you be able to tell by my tone when I really mean 'stop'?"

"Like I said, I want you to be free to say it like you mean it, if that turns you on. I like risks, but not those kind. So, a word. And nothing tricky to say, either. I could suggest something, but it's better if it comes from you."

He waited, but she didn't speak. Her mind was completely blank. 

"Look, I'll say a word, you say the first thing that comes to mind. All right? Don't think, just answer as fast as you can."

"All right…"

"Hunger."

"Kitchen."

"Warmth."

"Fire."

"Laughter."

"Cullen. Oh, that's interesting!"

He scowled. "Just pay attention. Fear."

"Demon."

"Freedom."

"Vanish."

She waited for the follow-up, but there wasn't one. He was just staring at her. "What?" she asked. "It was one of those things I learned from the disreputable types I told you about. Everywhere I went, people knew I was Evelyn Trevelyan, but once I learned how not to be seen, I could do anything, go anywhere."

"For you, freedom is being unseen."

"I suppose."

He reached out a hand, cupped her face. He was frowning, but she didn't understand it or the sorrow under it. "Another month, and I'd have been too late."

"What?"

"Nothing. So. Vanish, that's your watchword."

"If you're doing something I don't like, I just say 'vanish' and you'll stop?"

"Yes. No questions, no judgement. But Evelyn, take it seriously. Don't use it frivolously."

After a moment, she nodded. His sincerity compelled hers.

"Good. Now lie down."

Obedient, she stretched out on the bed, letting him tug her into the center of the mattress. "Do I even get a hint about what's to happen?" she asked.

"Sure," he said, leaning over her. His hand reached past her, pushed into the crevasse between the mattress and the headboard. "Hands," he said.

"Is that my hint?"

"Evelyn. Quiet."

She held up her hands.

Bull caught both of them in his hand, pulled them up over her head. She tilted her head back to see what he was doing, but the feel of rope around her wrists told her enough. She felt him build the restraint line by line, working his way up her hands from her wrists. The rope wound between her fingers and over her thumbs before he was content.

"Move your fingers," he said.

She did, wriggling them. The wind of ropes around them felt loose, not at all like the strength of rope that held her wrists or her palms together. She gave her hands a tug, felt slack rope slide then catch. The other end was attached somewhere behind and under her.

He grunted his satisfaction and backed away, taking her hips in his hands to pull her further down the bed, stretching her arms above her. He kept his eyes on what he was doing, where he was touching her, she noticed, never looking away from his own hands. He untied her boots and pulled them off her, then removed her pants and underthings. 

He didn't bother asking for her foot, just reached out and took her leg by the ankle, stretching it as far as it could go. He produced another rope, similarly pre-tied to her bedpost, and began securing her ankle with it. She moved her foot and he slapped the bottom of it. "Toes up," he said, gruff, "heel down." 

She flexed her foot and he continued tying, sliding the rope around and under and over her foot, the ends hissing as he pulled them through each other until her ankle was wrapped in a six-inch-wide band of rope. He stepped to the other corner of the bed and repeated the procedure on her left foot.

Then he stepped back.

Evelyn was not at all comfortable with any of this. She knew, _knew_ that if Bull had wanted to kill her, he'd had more than ample opportunities. But her essential helplessness grated against every survival instinct she had. She couldn't move, couldn't defend herself, and it wouldn't even help to use the small magics available to her to disappear from sight. 

To vanish.

She held the word in her head, had to debate whether or not to use it. She shifted, testing the restraints, hearing the creak of rope on rope, of rope against wood.

"Shh, Evelyn," he murmured, stalking around the bed to stand next to her. "Easy, girl. You're not harmed, you won't be harmed. You're just helpless." His gaze moved across her body, fingers to toes and back again. Head tilting to one side, he reached out one finger and set it at the notch in her collarbone. 

"This is what I want from you. Until I free you, I own you." His finger dragged lower, thin skin over bone, pressure bordering on pain. "You can't even move unless I say so. You feel what I want you to feel and nothing else. Your surrender, Evelyn. That is what I want. That is what you are going to beg to give me."

He kissed her, hard, hungry. She could feel it in him; he didn't want her kisses. He wanted her lips. He took them. She whimpered, strained against her bonds, but could not reach for him or push him away. His answering growl was low, vibrating against her skin through his lips.

His kisses dragged away from her mouth, leaving her free to gasp. Stubble and scruff scratched against her skin as he stroked his jaw along her breast, across her nipple. His tongue followed, soft caresses a delicious contrast. He set his other hand on her left breast, fingers teasing that nipple, rolling his thumb around and over it, mimicking the motions of his tongue.

Evelyn's hips shifted on the bed, her head tilted back, eyes closed. Any lingering doubts or hesitations vanished, swept aside in the pulses of desire that rolled through her, peaking in time with each motion of his tongue, his fingers.

His teeth closed lightly over her nipple, tugging on it, his tongue flicking over it while he held it between his teeth. Her back lifted from the bed, silently encouraging the mistreatment. Bull pulled his head back without releasing the pressure, scraping her skin before capturing her nipple with his lips again, soft and hot. He repeated the bite, harder now, a quick close of his teeth, echoing the motion with his hand on her other breast. The pain of the pinch blurred against the pleasure, heightened both, and her outcry matched that mix.

He clenched his hand briefly over her breast then let go, though his teeth and tongue continued to tease. The slide of his hand down her body seemed magnified in sensation, out of proportion to the actual movement. Heat scalded her skin, sent ribbons of tingling spiraling up to meet it. Evelyn tried to shift her legs, couldn't, felt the rope bite deeper into her skin.

He gave her breast one last kiss and trailed kisses into the valley between her them, paused to nip the outer curve of her left one. Another nip, higher, drawing a yelp from her, a twitch of her body that went most of nowhere but did make the ropes creak anew.

His hand reached her mound. Fingers slid down lower, through the satin liquid heat. His mouth drew strongly on her skin, a deep pull that reached into her, her heart hammering against the wall of her chest as if struggling to answer his call. She could still move her hips and they rose and fell, rose and fell, keeping time with the long strokes of his fingers between her labia.

Still his lips kept pulling on her skin, his tongue stroking over it. Marking her, she knew. Making sure anyone who saw it would see his claim on her. He slid one finger inside her, his thumb brushing lightly over her clit. She rocked against his hand, wanting more, craving more.

He sat back from her, tracing the swollen edges of his lover's kiss with the fingers of his left hand while his right hand continued stroking her, teasing her. "Such skin," he said.

"Open."

Evelyn started at the command, her eyes snapping open and searching for his face. Her hips continued to shift against him. Her lips were dry from drawing in rapid breath after rapid breath over them, and she licked them once. 

He smiled at her, a crooked twist of his lips, watched her, didn't let her look away from him. He drew his fingers out of her to work her clit, faster, fingers slick and hot from being inside of her. Evelyn tried to move her legs and couldn't. Pulled on the ropes that bound her wrists and didn't move.

"That's my girl," he said. "Fight for it. You'll never learn if you don't fight."

But she was losing track of his meaning. Tiny bursts of pleasure overlapped, built inside of her, sparks that collided and merged to burn hotter, brighter. Her head dropped to one side, mouth open, eyes closing.

His hand closed on her chin, forcing her head back around. With a long whimpered plea, she made herself open her eyes to stare at him, see the demands in his expression. Her eyes flared wider…

He pulled his hand away from her.

Evelyn bucked against the restraints, trying and failing to follow his fingers, his damned hands. The bed rattled, the sound not at all covered by her wordless cry of denial.

Bull chuckled, brought his hand to his mouth to lick his fingers. "Now you're beginning to see," he said, standing up and crouching to reach under the bed. Evelyn heard metal buckles and leather but didn't try to attach a picture to the sounds, fighting the reaction of her body, the shaking and twitching. Sweat beaded across her skin.

Something cold slid under her, making her flinch. It was wide, whatever it was, stretching from the base of her ribs to the tops of her hips. Bull wrapped it around her waist and pulled it snug, running the ends of the leather through the buckles. A belt.

A cinch, her mind corrected.

Bull ran another rope from the metal ring over her bed down to the cinch, tugging at it. She felt the rope slide through something set into the thick leather, watched as he fed it up through the ring above her again. He repeated the process three times, then stopped, one end of the rope in his hands.

He looked at her. "Do you remember your word?" he asked.

Vanish. It came instantly to mind. She nodded.

"Good girl."

Slowly he pulled down on the rope. Muscles shifted and flexed in his forearm, his bicep, his shoulder. Evelyn felt herself lifting into the air, drawn by the band around her waist. Her hands and feet remained tied to the bedframe.

Her back arched.

"Relax into it," he said. "Relax, Evelyn. Feel my strength. I have you."

Gradually, she realized he was right. She didn't have to tense any muscles to hold the pose, didn't have to work for the backbend. A shudder rippled through her and he flexed again. 

The ropes shifted and held, lifting her higher until her legs and arms were stretched to their limits, the skin of her torso pulled taut. He secured the end of the rope, where she couldn't tell, but it held. She had to let her head drop back, hair brushing the mattress somewhere beneath her. She felt his lips on the extended line of her throat, one hand stroking the curve of her ass.

His hands left her momentarily as he walked to the foot of the bed. She couldn't see him, but could hear him move. The mattress shifted as he knelt on it, and she felt his breath on her hot sex, chilling her. Her moan was strangled in the extension of her throat.

The slick feel of his tongue on her made her want to twist and writhe, but she had nowhere to go, couldn't move. There was only the protest of leather, the singing of the rope. He didn't have to hold her; her body was held for him, posed open, waiting, no purpose but what he chose to put her to.

He stroked the rounded curves of her again while his tongue tasted her heat, dipped into her briefly. One of his fingers slid between the barely touching cheeks, then pushed into her ass.

Evelyn tried to protest, tried to fight against it. The bedframe shook again as she struggled against her restraints. His mouth moved over her clit, teasing and sucking, tongue flickering over it. 

She cried out, both aroused and repelled, tried to escape his touch, to force him away from her but only succeeding in drawing him in deeper. His soft growl made her skin shiver under his lips.

 _Vanish._ The word danced across her mouth but didn't emerge. He moved his finger inside of her anus, the feeling singular and invasive, paired with the searing pleasure his mouth was giving her. She shuddered again, tension slipping away as her orgasm built in rapid crests.

His mouth left her, but his finger did not. "Now," he said, overriding the stream of furious curses that poured out of her. "Now, you understand. Surrender to it."

Something cold and hard stroked her heated, swollen lower lips. It teased around her hot slit, pressed momentarily. He licked her once. The thing, whatever it was, slid forward again, almost penetrating before withdrawing. His finger in her ass stroked her without thrusting, petting her inside. His tongue teased her clit. The triple sensation stole all control from her, all decision, all breath and demands.

Evelyn dangled bonelessly from the rig, feeling, wanting, waiting.

"Should I stop?" he asked.

"No, please," she whispered.

"No please what, Evelyn?"

"No, please ser."

"You want this? All of it?"

She choked on a sob. "Yes. Yes ser. Please. Please, ser, please."

It slid into her, filling her, driving forward. His finger in her ass pushed back against it, she could feel them brushing against each other inside her. Her clit throbbed in his mouth as he tasted it, stroked it. Again and again he thrust it into her, hard and steady. Evelyn lost track of it all; what felt right and delicious, what felt wrong and still so good, the silk of his mouth, the scratch of his finger, the unyielding hardness of whatever he was using to fill her. The leather of the harness no longer pinched her skin. The ropes did not chafe her wrists or ankles.

There was just one long moment of thrumming tension, even her heart squeezing hard inside her chest.

Then it crashed around her, drowned her. She heard her screams echoing off the stone walls but couldn't stop them, could feel the ropes biting into her fingers as she tried to clench them but couldn't, felt her body swaying with his unceasing thrusts. And somehow, none of it was her. None of it was hers. It was his. She gave it, surrendered it to him, and he took it all.

He tasted her climax, coaxed the last lingering scream from her raw throat with one curl from the tip of his tongue. His finger slid out of her, as did the hardness between her thighs. Then he moved away from her. She was still whimpering when he lowered her to the mattress. He left the belt on her, untying her wrists and hands with rapid deftness. Gently, he moved one arm at a time back to her side. The release of strain, the shift in angle made her muscles sting and she cried out in protest.

"Shh," he soothed. "All done. Let me get your ankles. Nod your head, Evelyn."

Obedient, she nodded.

Soon she felt the ropes around her ankles go slack and she worked her thighs together even though the rope cuffs were still in place. Moving had become a surprise, volition a delight. She couldn't stop stroking her body over the sheets, though her movements were not as smooth or sure as they might otherwise have been.

Bull chuckled, finally managing to snag her ankle long enough to untie the ropes. He sat beside her and took her hands in his, chafing them, lifting them to his lips to test their temperature against his skin. "Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded again, blinking sleepily at him.

"Thought I had you there for a minute," he said.

Slowly but emphatically, she shook her head, earning her another chuckle.

The door at the base of the stairs exploded inward. Metal boots raced up the stairs. "Inquisitor! We heard screa—"

Cullen made it to the top first, bare sword in his hand. He took in her naked body, ropes still dangling from the web above her bed down to the belt around her waist. He glanced at Bull, then pivoted. "Out!" he ordered to whomever was behind him. "Everyone out. Out, now. Go on."

More bootfalls clomped down her stairs, protests, demands raised by several voices. Cullen would hear none of it.

Bull sighed as one of the doors managed to close. "We're going to have to get better locks," he said over her helpless giggles.

Evelyn curled onto her side as best she could, with the cinch still in place. She nuzzled his leg. "Yes, ser," she sighed, smiling still.

He smiled back. "Good girl."


	9. Day Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (In which there's a lot of talking and no sex. But there is some Dorian! That helps, right?)

Finally, _finally_ Heir let Evelyn escape to the kitchens. Yesterday's grab-and-go meals hadn't been exactly satisfying, and while fish pies were excellent when hot and steamy and fresh, they weren't nearly as tasty once everything had begun to congeal and the pastry had gotten soggy. She was craving some hot, fresh food. 

And time away from her 'trainer'.

"Ow," Evelyn said, aborting a reach for a basket of bread.

Varric sat across from her, shoving the basket closer. "Good afternoon, Your Inquisitorialness," he said. "Little sore, huh?"

His too-bland expression did nothing to mask his amusement. "Oh don't you start too," she said, forcing her battered muscles to at least look like they were performing normally. "Heir threw me down a flight of stairs. She's just plain mean. She could've killed me."

"Sure. _Heir_ hurt you."

Evelyn ripped the bread apart and dunked some in the bowl of rich broth. Cook didn't like serving stew, but when he did, it had been simmering for hours before anyone got a taste of it. Evelyn thought it was delicious. "Heir did hurt me," she said emphatically.

"Oh sure, I believe you. She's nasty in a fight. I'm just saying…"

"Well don't just say. Don't say anything."

He chuckled. "Look, Inquisitor, if you don't want everyone knowing your business maybe you could, I don't know, muffle things a little. I hear pillows work."

She dropped her bread into her bowl and covered her face with both hands.

Varric relented. "Ah, don't look like that. I can't stand to break a woman's heart. Anyway, only Cullen got a good look at whatever was going on up there, and he's not saying a word."

Evelyn peeked hopefully through her fingers.

"He just shakes his head, says something profane about the Maker, and changes the subject."

"Lovely," she muttered. "Look, did Cassandra send you again or what?"

"Yeah, about that. I don't think I ever got around to apologizing. I guess Dorian wound them up pretty good about what Tiny's plans were and before anyone started talking about how many soldiers it would take to kick a Qunari out of a castle, I said I'd ask a few questions. Better me than the Seeker."

She shook her head and fished the soggy bread out of her stew bowl to eat it, then licked her fingers. "No apologies necessary," she said. "I was angry, don't get me wrong. But it wasn't really about me, was it? It was about the Inquisition."

"I don't think Cassandra can tell the difference."

Evelyn spared a moment of regret, thinking about the former Seeker. "I don't think she and I will ever manage to be friends," she said.

"Oh?"

"She wants me to be something I'm not."

"And what would that be?"

She thought about how to explain it, then just shrugged. And winced. "The Inquisitor," she said.

"Do you want me to have someone go get you one of those potions from the Herbalist?" he asked.

"What?"

"The wincing. You're wincing a lot. You're making me wince, and I'm fine. Or maybe I should tell your boyfriend to take it easy on you for a few nights."

She arched an eyebrow at him over a sip of wine. "You keep working the topic around to Bull," she said. "Is there something specific you're wanting to ask?"

"Well, since you offered and all…" He leaned forward, lacing gloved fingers together. "Did you really just forgive him, just like that?"

"Forgive him for what?"

"For not telling you about Maerith."

She blinked at him, then sighed. "Of course you know. You're the biggest gossip in the entire Inquisition, you know that?"

"I prefer 'hoarder of secrets', but no you probably shouldn't be surprised I know. So?"

Evelyn toyed with her glass. "No," she said. "I haven't exactly forgiven him. But we understand each other better now." She shrugged, or started to before her shoulder stopped her. "He's Qunari," she said. "I'm human. These things are bound to crop up."

"So that's it? Just a silly misunderstanding and it's over?"

"Our relationship is barely a week old," she pointed out. "Seems a trifle early to demand he drop all his prior relationships. He was with her before he was with me, after all. You're very interested in my personal life, Varric. I'm not sure if it's flattering or creepy."

"I'm just trying to build a complete picture."

She blinked. "Blessed Andraste. You're writing a book."

"No! Later, maybe. First comes research, then you write."

Evelyn threw a piece of bread at him. "I am not telling you about my sex life so you can put it in a book!"

He caught her missile neatly. "Everyone loves a good romance, Inquisitor, and this one has all the earmarks of a whopper. I mean, have you even thought about what your parents are going to say?"

Her spoon dropped from her fingers and Evelyn stared off into the distance.

"So that would be a 'no'."

"Well," she said finally, frowning a little, "it's not like they can send me to my room or threaten to ship me off to some Chantry in the middle of nowhere."

Varric leaned forward and poured himself a mug of ale from the pitcher in the middle of the table. "No, I guess not. Parents, though, have a lot more weapons than children think they do. Trust me on that one."

Her frown cleared. "Sounds like you have a few stories of your own."

"I might. Nothing as fascinating as the human Inquisitor who fell in love with a Qunari mercenary in the middle of a demon invasion, though."

"I don't love him."

"I see. You don't love him, and it's not about sex."

"Actually, I'm not sure about that last part," she said, poking at a chunk of meat with her spoon. It wasn't always a good idea to ask what animal the meat had come from, not with supplies being funneled in from all over Orlais and Ferelden. Some things she didn't consider food might well have been yesterday's lunch. But she thought this bit looked safe enough. "He keeps saying that and I believe him. I do. It's just if it's not about sex, I'm not sure what it is about."

"Looks like sex."

"Feels like it, too."

"Well if you figure it out, tell me, because that's one hell of a plot hole and my publisher will never let it go to press like this."

"He says…" She stopped, shaking her head.

"Says what?"

"No," she decided. "The last thing I need is to have this show up in Tales of the Inquisitor."

He grimaced. "That'd never happen. Terrible title. Stick with the rift closings, Inquisitor. Leave the writing to the professionals."

Varric rose, picking up his mug. "But seriously, if I can be a little too personal for a bit longer, talk to someone. Leliana, maybe. If what Dorian's said is even half-true, you need to keep your head on straight now more than ever."

Evelyn sucked on her spoon and thought. "Dorian said, hmm?" she murmured. "Very well, then. Let's go and see what else he has to say."

 

She found him where he usually was these days, lounging in a chair he'd dragged into a cozy nook of the tower library. With bookshelves on three sides, the worst of the drafts didn't really swirl back here as much and he looked comfortable in the muscle-baring shirt he wore.

"Ah!" he said, snapping his latest book closed with one hand. "Inquisitor. Looking well, I see, and considerably more clothed, much to the dismay of the men of the keep. Well, most of them, anyway."

"Dorian," she said, her eyes brightening with laughter. "I wondered if we might speak for a moment."

"Of course! Have a… Er… Well, there's a nice spot of wall to lean against."

"I was thinking perhaps someplace with fewer spies running about."

"Maker's moustache, we'd have to go tromping out in the snow halfway down the mountain for that. Give me a moment."

She watched, curious, as he dragged in another chair then faced the opening of his nook. Power and light flared in his hands. He gestured, describing arcs and whorls, sculpting the very air it seemed. Then he set the power free, pushing it away from him. A ripple of energy filled the entry to the nook.

"There we are," he said, nudging the chair closer. "A bit snug in here now, but safe as castles."

"It's beautiful," she murmured, watching the pulsing light.

"Naturally."

That made her smile again and she sat, wincing, in his abandoned chair. "The Maker has a moustache?"

"Of course!" he laughed, stroking a finger across his own perfectly groomed example. "Why else would it look so good on me?"

She laughed too. It was almost impossible not to laugh when Dorian set his mind on being charming.

"But I hardly think you wanted privacy to discuss the facial hair of the Maker."

"No," she said, picking up the book he'd abandoned. It seemed to be a Tevinter history book. 

"Ah. Morning-after treatments, then? There's a massage salve I heartily recommend, excellent for bruised genit—" 

"No! Heir threw me down a flight of stairs in practice this morning. Maker, the lot of you…"

"Of course, of course. My mistake entirely. Well then, if you don't need something for bite marks, how may I help?"

"Do you… Bull keeps saying it's not about sex. He says sex is just a tool, or a weapon. To get inside my mind."

"He's an honest Ben-Hassrath, I'll grant him that."

She turned the book over in her hands. "He says it won't work, if he isn't honest with me."

Dorian sat back, crossing his legs, one ankle resting on the knee of the opposite leg. "He needs you to trust him implicitly."

"Yes but why, Dorian? He says it's not about the Inquisition, and I believe him. Then he says he wants to own me, and I believe him there, too. But why? To what end? You'd think he just woke up in the morning and said, "I've a nice axe and a good pair of boots, but what I really need is an Inquisitor. I should get one of those!""

He watched her, resting one long forefinger on his upper lip just below his moustache, elbow on the arm of the chair. His amber eyes studied her, glittering in the torch light. Eventually, he asked, "Why aren't you asking him?"

"He won't tell me," she said. "He's never lied, but I know there's a why and he won't tell me." She shook her head. "Like when I asked him why he was so angry about you—" She glanced up. "Well, you know. With the wall and the strings."

He nodded and rolled his fingers in the air, a 'go on' gesture.

"He said it wasn't jealousy, just protectiveness. But it took him so long to answer. He was too careful in his choice. There's a why, there's a purpose to this and I don't know what it is."

Thanks to his barrier, it was quiet in the nook. She could hear the ravens, but faintly. Magic alone hummed in the air, a constant background buzz that wasn't annoying, exactly. 

Finally, Dorian took a breath. "He spoke with me, you know. After."

"I told him not to threaten you."

"My dear, a Qunari and a Tevinter mage had a chat. That there are still walls standing is a miracle directly from the Maker. Let's not press our luck by wishing for the impossible, hmm?" He shifted a little in the chair, moving his weight to the other side. "Still, it wasn't that sort of talk. He was quite rational."

"Rational? So he explained things to you?"

"After a fashion," Dorian allowed. "And you should be discussing your lover with your lover, Evelyn. I will say this, however: I sincerely believe he has only your best interests at heart. Shocked as I am to hear myself say it."

She sighed. "So I should trust him."

"I believe him."

"That's not the same thing."

"Clever girl. Now then," he rose from his chair, "if that's all you needed I believe I should be getting back to my studies."

She stood too, reluctantly, and set the book back on the chair. "But if I have any other questions?"

"Ask him," Dorian said firmly. "If what I've heard from our furry-shouldered Commander is any indication, the two of you need to be open with each other now more than ever."

Evelyn blinked. "What you've heard? Varric said Cullen wouldn't say anything."

"A man will say a great many things, when you distract him enough." Dorian winked at her, then laughed. "Ah, your expression. Oh, before I forget, what was the name of your first horse?"

"Blaze," she answered, tilting her head to one side. "Not terribly imaginative, but I was ten. Why do you ask?"

"I was betting that would be your watchword."

"You had a _bet_?"

"Just with your Qunari."

"Well you lost," she said, scowling. "It's nothing of the sort.". 

He snapped his fingers. "Damn. I'm usually good at that sort of thing. Ah well." The barrier vanished with a flick of his hand. He even dragged the chair back out into the tower hall. "First pony, perhaps?"

"Muddy Legs, and no."

"Eugh. I should hope not. Tell him I'll be by with his winnings."

 

For once, Bull was no harder to find than Dorian had been. He lounged in the bar, sprawled out on a chair, mug next to him. Evelyn waved to Krem as she passed.

"Inquisitor! Have a seat," Bull said.

"I spoke with Dorian."

"Oh. Well in that case, have a seat, Evelyn."

She remained standing. "He says he'll be by with what he owes you."

Bull barked a laugh. "Ha! He should know better than to wager with a Ben-Hassrath on that kind of thing. It was a pretty good guess, though. Had me a little worried. Don't tell him I said that. So, you went to speak to him, or did he come find you?"

"I went to him," she said. "I had some questions."

"And you went to Dorian instead of me. Not the best news I've had today."

"If it helps, he told me to ask you, wouldn't even give me any hints."

"Hints about what?"

"About why, Bull! Why are you doing this? What's the endgame? I can't see it, and I deserve to know."

He sighed and gestured her closer. "Come here. Sit."

"I can't," she mumbled.

"Why not?"

"Heir."

His chuckle at least was sympathetic. "Oh yeah. Heard about that. You let that tiny little elf girl throw you down a flight of stairs. Not the Inquisition's finest moment."

"Stone stairs! I could have broken my neck! And she is a master assassin, you know."

He stood. "Come on, let's take care of you."

"I'm not wasting an Elfroot potion on some bruises, no matter how they ache."

"I have a better idea."

They walked back to her room in silence. He didn't help her up the stairs but did keep an eye on her. The door at the bottom, the one that locked and led to the great hall, had already been replaced. She wasn't too sure about the fit, as it had evidently come from some other room in the keep, but she was sure about the iron latches. She had tested them herself.

Bull looked around her rooms and walked to her desk, setting all the contents on the chair. She didn't try to help, just watched. Casually, one hand clamped on the edge of the heavy wooden piece of furniture, he dragged it across her room, leaving it in front of the fireplace.

"You really are ridiculously strong," she said, eyeing him.

"Enjoying the view?" he asked. "Not that I blame you. And strip."

She blinked at him, dismayed. "By myself?"

He laughed. "Forgotten how? I think I spoil you. When I take your clothes off, it's for other things. This is therapeutic, so you can take your own clothes off."

Evelyn tried not to feel too disappointed and began easing out of her clothes. "The one time I need the help," she grumbled. 

The tiny storage room against the wall held mostly odds and ends, which apparently now included the velvet curtains from her bed. No need to hide them anymore; her servants all knew to leave things be, if Bull had arranged them. He layered them on the desk, forming a thick pad, then gestured. "Up you go."

But he stopped her before she could, taking a long look at her body.

She looked down at herself. Large purple bruises stood out against her pale skin, ones that would be black by the end of the day if she were any judge. She couldn't see the ones on her back, but knew they were there. "I tried to roll," she said. 

He set his hands lightly on her hips. His fingers fit perfectly into a smaller set of bruises, fading now. "I don't think you got these from steps."

"No, that was from someone holding me down during oral sex a couple of days ago. Surely you've seen them before this."

"I try not to look at you too much when we're together. It's hard enough keeping control, especially now."

"Now?"

"No release, remember?" He shook his head. "I'm either a fucking genius or I'm going to be dead by the end of this. Anyway, get on the table, face down, and I'll try to concentrate."

While she tried to crawl onto the table, he rummaged through the chest that had been added to her room. She lifted herself up to look around. There was a new weapons rack, she realized, and she recognized the armor stand from his room. Sometime this morning, he had simply moved in.

"Making yourself at home?" she asked.

"I told you I was going to stay here from now on. Problem?"

"No," she said after giving herself a moment to consider. She smiled. "No, not at all. I like it, in fact. It feels… safer."

He walked over and kissed the back of her neck, brushing her hair away to do so. "Good," he said. "Head down."

She folded her arms and rested her head on them. "Weren't you going to tell me why you're doing all this? Don't think I've forgotten."

He uncorked a small bottle and set it on the floor, then rubbed his hands together. "I didn't think you had," he said. "Give me a moment. I'm trying to remember why I thought rubbing you down with oil was a better idea than sending you to get a healing potion."

"Maybe you like torturing yourself, too," she suggested. The scent of the oil reached her. It wasn't exactly a pleasing smell. It was astringent, if anything, and stung her nose, mingled with more than a trace of mint that didn't blend at all well. "That smells awful, by the way."

"I told you, it's therapeutic. We can do fun massages later." He set one hand on her back, just where the curve of her buttocks met her back. She hissed in pain. "Easy," he said. "Give it a minute."

"Stop manhandling me and start talking."

"You're kind of bitchy when you're in pain. Fine. Why." Then he went silent again. The oil was working, she had to admit that. It tingled, almost burned, but the deep throb from where her hip had hit the stone step was starting to fade. 

"Will you trust me if I say that some of it, I can't tell you? At least not yet."

"Why not?"

His hand swept over the bruise in steady circles, massaging the oil into her skin. "If I had told you eight days ago that I was going to tie your wrists and ankles to your bed and you were going to enjoy every second of it, would you have believed me then?"

"No," she said, pushing aside the pulse of pleasure the memory gave her even now.

"So. There are things I can't tell you now because you won't believe them. And because without the understanding that comes before, they may frighten you. Like how the thought of being tied up and hoisted into the air might have sent you running into the night if I'd brought it up that first night in the tavern."

Well, he had a point. "Frighten me. You've said that before. Do you think I'm such a coward?"

"Evelyn, I think you're one of the bravest people I've ever met."

The sincerity in his tone made her try to crane her head back, just to see if his expression matched his voice.

"Head down," he said.

She relaxed again. "I'm not sure what to make of that," she said.

His oiled hands slid up her back to the opposite shoulder blade. "I think ignorance breeds fear," he continued. "At the risk of having my nipples stitched together, you don't throw a saddle on a horse before you've taught them that smaller weights aren't going to kill them. They learn not to fear, to overcome natural instinct to buck off a predator. Horses aren't cowards for bucking, they're smart."

"Unless you want to break one."

"Yes," he said. "If you break a horse, you throw the saddle on and let them fight until they figure out that it's not really hurting them. But a horse is a large animal to panic like that. They can do a lot of damage, to themselves and to other people."

"So you're gentling me."

"Mm hmm."

"So you can own me."

"In a way."

"But why do you want to?"

"Well, you've got a great ass…"

"I'm serious!"

"So am I. You should see this thing." His hands stroked over her bare bottom.

"Bull!"

He chuckled and relented, pouring more oil onto his hands to stroke over her thigh. "Turn over, and let's see if I'm as strong-willed as I think I am."

She rolled onto her back, relieved when the pain was entirely bearable.

He looked at her, set his hands on her thigh. They wrapped around it almost completely, covering the wide bruise there with the oil on his hands. "What if I promised I'll tell you when we're done?"

"Done?"

He smiled at her. "Not that kind of done. Though it's nice to see the thought worries you. I mean when I'm sure of you."

"When you own me."

"Yeah, but don't say that when you're naked and oily in front of me. Have a little mercy."

Her lips twitched. "Sorry. But there is a reason, then. One you can tell me."

"There's never only one reason for anything. There's a reason I thought it might be a good idea. There's a reason I tested you. There are at least three reasons why I kept going, even with the problems. There are several reasons I chose this method and not any other. And there's a reason I'm not telling you what any of those reasons are."

"You have to tell me something," she protested. 

He sighed and transferred his grip to her calf. "Fine. Pick one, I'll answer it. But not why it was a good idea."

She thought about it and tried not to flinch away from the pressure of his fingers as he worked the oil in. She was fairly certain at least one of the reasons to keep going was that he enjoyed it. And if she asked, that was likely the answer she'd get. He had already explained, in a way, why he wasn't telling her anything else though admittedly "so I don't scare you" wasn't exactly a satisfying answer.

"When did you test me?"

He laughed. "That's the one you want? Still so proud and defiant. Don't like knowing someone was testing you without your knowledge, huh?"

"Well, now that you mention it, no. What was this test, exactly?"

"Do you remember why you were walking past the tavern that night?"

"Yes. The infirmary had requested I come see them. Nothing urgent."

"That wasn't the infirmary."

She blinked. "You sent that message? Why?"

"So you'd overhear exactly what you did. Oh, I couldn't be sure when you'd pass by, so the conversation had dragged on awhile. But that's why I had Dorian and Varric there. Those two will talk for hours."

Her eyes were wide by the time he was done talking. "You mean you staged that entire thing?"

He nodded.

"Just to see what I'd do?"

"To see if you'd come in. Then to see if you'd stay. Hadn't counted on Cullen trying to hustle you out of there before you heard more, but I'm glad he did."

"Because?"

"Because you overrode him to stay. All of it was a test, Evelyn. The whole time you were there. Even the touch. The way you responded…" He shook his head a little, and his hand slid higher up her leg. "That's when I knew. Two weeks," he said, voice lowering half an octave.

But she wasn't paying attention to his hands. She was rethinking the conversation in the tavern. "That's what Dorian meant. He wasn't sure if it was impressive or terrifying. He knew then."

"I suppose so," he said. "He figured it was a set-up, anyway. Set off his paranoid Tevinter alarms."

"And then he went to Cassandra and the others."

"Seems like. Oh, he waited a day or two. I don't think he counted on me moving as quickly as I did. But Cullen was there to back him up on some of it, so they listened."

She sat up. "Wait a moment. You didn't move quickly, I did. I was the one who went to your rooms."

He chuckled. "Yes, that was a good moment for me. All those excuses you made for yourself about why you came to me, when the truth was you just couldn't get that near-miss out of your pretty head. But you couldn't admit it, not then. Had to get yourself all riled up."

"You're very arrogant, Bull. It's not at all attractive."

"It's not arrogance when you're really that good."

She stretched out again and stared at the ceiling. "I'm not sure I like any of that," she said.

"Yeah, well, that's why I didn't want to tell you. Now you know I manipulated you. People don't like knowing it, even if they like having it done to them."

"People don't like being manipulated at all."

"Yes, they do. You like it when I do it, you just don't like knowing about it. That pride thing again."

"You make me like it."

"Listen to yourself. I don't make you like anything." He shifted around to stand near her head. "You always liked these things, Evelyn. I'm just showing you what it is you like, when you never knew it existed."

"And in the process, taming me."

His gaze trailed down her prone body. "Exactly."

She lifted one knee, sliding her foot across the thick nap of the velvet. The ability to move without pain felt sybaritic, indulgent. "And tonight?" she asked, trailing a hand between her breasts, down to her stomach. "What will you teach me tonight about myself?"

His eye tracked her hand. "Tonight," he said in a low, rough murmur, "I'm going to teach you about self-control." He reached out to take her hand in his. "You're too battered to play our sort of game tonight, Evelyn. Rest up. We still have time."

"What?!" She sat up again. 

"Evelyn."

The word landed like an anvil, hard and final.

She sighed in irritation and flopped back down. "Fine," she said.

"Fine what?"

"Fine, ser."

"Good girl," he said. "I'm going to go wash my hands. You're going to wait here while I send up people with a hot bath. And then I'm going to go find a snowbank to roll around naked in."

He headed for the stairs while she fumed. "I hope you suffer!" she yelled.

"I'd rather be fucking you, too," he called back.

Evelyn yanked some of the velvet over her face. Two weeks. Five more days. 

It was going to be a long, long night.


	10. Day Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Merrrrrrrrrrrry Christmas, Bull.)

Evelyn strode toward the war room, long legs stretched to their fullest extent, passing through Josephine's office. The ambassador and Leliana were huddled over a stack of small missives, sized properly for one of the spymaster's crow reports. They both looked up and nodded, Josephine holding up one finger before they returned to their quiet, rapid discussion.

Evelyn nodded her understanding in return and walked into the room. Cassandra was the only other person there and Evelyn paused just inside the doorway.

"Inquisitor," Cassandra said eventually.

"Cassandra," she said, walking to the table. "Has someone sent for Commander Cullen?"

"I believe the messenger who found me was going to the training grounds next."

Evelyn nodded and looked at the table.

After a moment of silence, Cassandra said, "I suppose you were with the mercenary."

"Cassandra, do not start."

"It was simply an observation. I'm sure it is a pleasant diversion."

"It's not a diversion, and it's also none of your business."

"You are the face of this Inquisition. You are its leader! Your behavior—"

"Is also none of your business! My task is to close these rifts, seal the breach, stop Corypheus. I realize you want me to raise a blazing sword and lead another holy war across all—"

"I would be satisfied if you would at least acknowledge that the Maker—"

"The Maker had nothing to do with this!"

Cullen cleared his throat. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

Evelyn turned away from the blaze of indignation in Cassandra's eyes, resting her hands on the table. "Not at all, Commander," she said, jaw tight. "Our former Seeker here was just telling me how much she wishes the power to close the rifts had fallen to her instead of someone as unsuitable as myself."

"I said no such thing!"

Her head snapped around. "It's what you mean! It's in every look you give me, every awkward sentence you utter when I'm around."

"It is not my place to question the will of—"

"If you say Andraste, so help me—"

"Ladies!" Cullen stepped between them, holding up a hand to each of them. "Surely there's enough of a war going on outside these walls that we don't need another inside them."

After a moment, Evelyn nodded. Cassandra moved to her usual place to Evelyn's left, standing stiffly.

Satisfied that no physical violence was in the offing, Cullen walked to the opposite side of the table.

Quietly, Evelyn said, "I am not the Herald of Andraste. I never claimed to be. I have refuted it at every turn. I don't know what happened to me in that rift, but I do not believe it was Andraste who sent me back."

Just as softly, Cassandra replied, "Only because you do not believe in Andraste. To the rest of us, it seems plain that you were chosen."

"Then if I were chosen, you must learn to accept that it is because of who I am and be content to let me be exactly that. I cannot be what you want me to be, Cassandra. I will not be what you picture me to be."

The door opened again. If Leliana and Josephine had heard the yelling, as they certainly must have, they gave no indication of it. Instead, they walked around the table. Evelyn watched as Leliana placed one of her tokens on the route to Emprise du Lion.

"We have found our foothold," she said.

Josephine clarified. "We have learned the duc has a lover who is highly placed within the Chantry. We believe if we can dispatch a retinue of clerics to speak with him, he will persuade the duc to assist us."

"Or," said Leliana, glancing significantly at Josephine, "we also know the lover has significant gambling debts. We could suggest to him that the duc may learn his lover is only interested in him for his money, unless he speaks to the duc on our behalf."

"No," Evelyn said. "I'll not start with threats. We'll see if we can convince this lover to speak with the duc. We can't de-escalate once we've begun with threats, but we can step up to them if it's required. How long will it take to get someone in place to speak with this Chantry gambler?"

"I can send a message today. It should be there by tonight."

Evelyn looked at the map and murmured, "And the duc is the powerhouse in the region. If he sides with us, the minor lords will fall in line."

"That is what we believe, Inquisitor."

She nodded. "Good. That's our plan, then." Evelyn looked around at the others. "I'll make sure Blackwall and Solas are ready to go. Leliana, have your scouts find some place to set up camp. As soon as we get a yes from the duc, I want them unpacking tents."

"Yes, Inquisitor."

"Cullen, see if you can put together a discreet core of soldiers to accompany us. I don't want anyone thinking it's an invasion, but I don't think our usual small group tactics will prevail."

He nodded. "At once, Inquisitor."

She glanced around. "Anything else?"

No one spoke.

"Very well. Let's see it done."

 

Her core group had been cemented early: Blackwall for his battlefield prowess and his Warden's understanding of darkspawn, Solas for magical support and his deep knowledge of most of the areas they traveled through, and Bull for sheer destruction as well as his ability to keep attention on him thereby allowing Evelyn's skills to be most effective.

But things had changed. They had changed drastically. And she had to have a conversation she wasn't certain she would enjoy.

So she started with Solas. She stood in the doorway and watched him. He never seemed to tire of the mosaic, though there was evidence around the small tower room that he had other interests. Some of the rock shards they had retrieved sat on his desk, adding their faint blue radiance to the room. Books lay open nearby, and papers with hand-written notations in what she assumed was Elvish script, though she hadn't been aware they still retained their own written language.

"Inquisitor," Solas said in his smooth, rich voice, his back still to her. "Was there something you needed?"

She smiled. "How do you always know it's me?"

"The mark, of course," he said. "Its magics are peculiar. And particular."

"Of course. I came by to tell you we may be leaving soon, for Emprise du Lion. Two or three days, perhaps."

"That is good news. I'll be ready."

She continued to watch him work as he selected each small piece of glass or pottery with care before setting it into place, building the image he wanted from the scattered remains of what had been destroyed. 

It was soothing to watch. He was soothing, she realized. She found him comforting to be near, familiar. Perhaps because he had spent so much time at her bedside in Haven before she regained consciousness. "You know, when we were first introduced," she said, "I thought your name was Solace. The word for comfort and peace."

"You aren't the first to remark on it."

"I never properly thanked you, did I? For saving my life."

At that, he turned and smiled at her. "In your own way, you did."

"Thank you, Solas."

He inclined his head. "It was my privilege, Inquisitor."

She slipped out through the door to the courtyard, leaving him to his work.

 

The stables and Blackwall were her next stop. He was scrubbing at his armor, working oil deep into the joints if the scent were any indication. He glanced over at her as she entered. "Inquisitor," he said.

"I thought you should know we may be leaving for Emprise du Lion soon."

"I heard," he said. "Crows come flying in and you lot go running for that room, everyone knows by now."

"For such a large keep, news does travel quickly."

"Nature of war," he said. "Bored soldiers are worse than bored sailors. Lotta gossip." He glanced at her, then scrubbed his armor even more vigorously.

"For you, that was positively subtle," she said wryly. "Go on, spit it out."

"Look, it's just you and that Qunari."

"What about us?"

"I'm not telling you your business. Happens in every unit. You can't get that many bodies together in one place without 'em rubbing up against each other sooner or later."

"Mm hmm…"

He sighed and threw down the cloth, then turned to face her, fisted hands on his hips. "We don't need any more injuries," he growled.

Evelyn's brow wrinkled. "I'm sorry, what?"

"He's twice your damned size. We all heard the screaming."

Slowly, horribly, realization sank in. She sputtered. "Are you suggesting that—" 

He held up a hand to stop her and grimaced. "We both know what I mean," he said. "Just don't do anything in the field that we'll need a healer for come morning."

"Maker's balls," she muttered. Unable to think of anything to say in response, she shook her head and left, walking into the courtyard.

"I don't want to waste potions on it!" she heard him yelling behind her. She tried to walk faster, but still heard him bellow, "And you'll need your sleep, you know!"

 

Bull hadn't been in the courtyard with the rest of the Chargers, nor was he in the tavern. She took a chance and headed for her room, both relieved and not to find him there.

Evelyn dropped onto the low couch and watched him. He sat on the bed, barefoot and bare-chested, trimming a long strap of leather with one of her daggers. "Blackwall is afraid your penis will do me harm," she announced.

He laughed. "And I didn't think he'd had a good look yet," he said, with a deliberate leer. "Do I want to know how that conversation got started?"

"I went to tell him we'd be leaving for Emprise du Lion soon, and that was his response."

"What did you say?"

"Ran like a coward," she said. "With him shouting across the courtyard after me."

"He didn't actually say penis, did he? Because I just can't hear that in my head."

"No," she admitted. "That was just the inference. But it does bring up something we should discuss."

"And what's that?"

"Well…" She curled her legs up onto the couch beside her. "I know you've said we can keep things separate, but this will be the first time we've been out in the field since all this started."

He looked up at her. "All what started?"

"Us," she said. 

"Ah. Since I took ownership of you."

She rolled her eyes, ignoring the deep thrum of pleasure that echoed inside her. "Yes, that."

"Get used to saying it," he said. "We're almost there."

"You think so?"

He chuckled. "I know so. Say it, Evelyn, so we can have the rest of this discussion."

"Fine. Since you took ownership of me."

His amusement vanished, wiped away in a single heartbeat. He didn't look away from her. Didn't even seem to breathe. His hands tightened on the leather he held.

Evelyn felt pinned to the couch by his stare. Her legs stretched out on the cushions beside her, and she took a deep breath to combat the sudden acceleration in her pulse. Her cheeks warmed and she had to look away. She lowered her gaze, veiling her eyes beneath her lashes, her head dipping slightly.

He stood, the dagger clattering to the floor. In two swift strides, he crossed the room, his hands taking her by the shoulders and lifting her from the couch. He jerked her body against his; she could feel the sub-audible growl vibrating in his chest.

Slowly, carefully, he lowered his head to her neck. He ran his lips against her skin, up to her ear, traced its curve. His deep inhale teased her ear and she shivered.

"That," he rumbled, low and soft, "sounded very nice."

He set her on her feet and pried his hands off her. With deliberate care, he walked back to the bed. She didn't move after him, just remained where he had set her. Finally he turned, sat on the bed.

"Come here," he said.

She drifted to him like a curl of smoke on a misty night, stopping just within arm's reach. His hands raised from his lap, then stopped, and he dropped them back on his thighs. His chest lifted and expanded as he took in a deep, long breath and held it. "All right," he said quietly.

His fingers lifted to the filigreed tabs on her shirt. Evelyn swayed slightly under the rush of anticipatory desire. One by one, they parted under his fingers until her shirt gaped open, baring her skin in flashes through the slit.

Bull set his hands back on his thighs and waited; for what, Evelyn wasn't sure. But since he didn't move, neither did she.

Finally he pushed her shirt off her body and removed the wrap underneath. He set his hands on her waist, then slid his left around to her back, aligning his hand with her spine.

"Hands on your head, Evelyn," he said.

Her breath caught, mind dancing between memories of the recent past and the sensations of the present. She did as he bade her, raising her hands to her head and lacing her fingers together.

He sighed, stroking his right hand down her bare torso. "Ah Evelyn," he murmured, lips caressing the curve of her breast. "Good girl."

He touched the mark he had left, acknowledging it with a kiss, then pulled it sharply between his lips, scraping it with his teeth, making her gasp and flinch. She gripped her fingers tighter, forcing her hands to stay where they were. When the mark was well-renewed, bright red tinged with purple bruising, he let it be.

He traced the ring of darker areola around her nipple, surrounded it with the heat of his mouth. Evelyn shook as he teased her nipple, slow circles and quick flicks of his tongue mingling with the steady draw of his lips pulling gently. 

Her teeth sank into her lower lip, tiny whimpers escaping with each exhale. Her fingernails dug into the backs of her hands, but she did not lower them. Would not.

Satisfied, perhaps, that she would keep the pose he'd requested, his hands moved to her ass, each hand cupping the rounded curve of one cheek. The pressure made her arch her back to keep her balance. His teeth bit into the softness of her breast, tightening briefly around her nipple. 

Evelyn compressed her lips together, muffling her exclamation into a wordless whimper.

His fingers scored her hips as they dug under the waistband of her trousers. A sharp yank snapped the rawhide lacing that held them closed, and he let them fall away. Fabric tore under the strength of his hands, and the light cotton of her smallclothes dropped to her ankles. His breath, fast and hot, scorched her skin, and the motion of his lips and tongue grew more urgent, demanding.

His hands gripped her ass again, quick, hard. His fingers clenched deep, drawing her cheeks apart. His fingers slid between them.

"Bull!" His name was a plea on her lips, begging for him.

Instantly his tongue gentled, softer sweeps across her breast. He stroked her skin with calloused fingers, caressing.

She cursed softly in frustration.

He stood up, abandoning her body and she shuddered from the lack of him. His hands enveloped hers, guided them down away from her head. "Sit," he said, voice a barely audible growl.

Evelyn twisted past him to sit on the bed, watched in silence as he removed her boots and trousers, casting her ruined underthings aside. He rose and stalked to the couch, yanking both cushions off it and tossing them to the floor, one atop the other. Turning to her, he pointed at them. "Kneel," he said.

Unsure but obedient, she walked to the cushions and knelt on them, taking a moment to steady herself. The cushions were thick enough that she couldn't feel the stone floor under her knees, but that also made her balance slightly unstable. She spread her knees wider and adjusted her weight.

Just above her sightline, Bull unfastened the wide leather buckle of his belt.

Evelyn's mouth went dry. She tried to swallow, licked her lips to try to dampen them.

He stepped out of his pants and kicked them to one side, then stood in front of her, the length of his erect penis inches from her mouth. The permission was implicit in his posture, but had not been explicitly given. Her hands twitched at her side, hungry for the feel of him. Deliberately, she knotted them together in front of her, fingers laced again.

His hand stroked her hair. "Excellent," he said. For a brief moment, his fingers tangled in her hair and her pulse jumped, but he released her and she sighed her disappointment.

A low chuckle. "Hungry," he said. "Hands. And Evelyn?" He tilted her head back at an almost painful angle to make her look up and up at him, her hands paused in the act of reaching for him. "Hands only," he clarified, giving her head a shake for emphasis.

Anger and frustration flashed in her eyes, but she said only, "Yes, ser."

His hand fisted in her hair again. One finger at a time, he managed to let her go.

Again, memory mingled with the present. Her palms tingled. This time there was no rough nap of towel between her skin and his. This sense, at least, she could indulge. Her palms caressed his thigh, brushed the hard ridges of thick muscle. Lightly, so lightly, her fingers traced the line of one muscle, felt it bunch and twitch under her touch.

The slick tissue of a scar bisected the line of skin and she let her hands trace that, too. She started to lean in, wanting to taste it, to see how it felt against her tongue, but stopped herself. Instead, she forced her hands higher. 

Where a human man would have had a patch of crinkly curls, Bull was perfectly bare. She sucked in her lower lip and bit down on it, intrigued by the sight. Her fingers explored the soft skin of his heavy balls, lightly rolled them onto her palm, cupped and stroked them. 

She heard a groan above her, but was too fascinated by the texture of him to pay it much attention. The crooked line of a thick vein caught her attention. She stroked one finger along it, from the base of his cock to the head. There, she wrapped her entire hand around his thickness. 

Her fingers couldn't reach her thumb. "Oh," she said softly.

Both his hands landed on her head, but since they weren't doing anything more than resting there, she ignored them. Instead, she took his cock in both her hands, one long, sure stroke from bottom to top. The fingers of her right hand stroked a circle around the head, such a satiny feel to his skin, while her left slid down, then up again to meet her right hand and back down again, leaving the shaft to slip around the odd hairlessness of his testicles.

Her fingertip found a droplet of dampness at the head of his cock, swirled through it and smoothed it over his skin, then brushed her palm over it, stroked downward, upward in one long pull. She could feel him swell in her grasp, harder and fuller.

"Stop," he snapped.

She froze.

"Hands down."

Her hands fell to her sides instantly.

Now she could hear his harsh breathing; looking up without lifting her head she could see the clench and motion of his stomach, muscles coated with a soft sheen of sweat. His fingers moved against her, a suggestive back and forth slide through her hair that did not move her head with it.

She waited, blinking slowly, sleepily.

Time passed.

"Evelyn," he said eventually, then paused. After three long breaths, he said, "Open your mouth."

She complied, parting her lips slightly, eyes lifting, but she couldn't see his expressions. His hands tightened in her hair again, pulling painfully. "Do. Not. Move," he said.

The head of his cock nudged against her lips. Taking him literally, she did not widen her mouth farther. He didn't ask her to, but rocked his hips, pushing hard against her mouth, penetrating her. Her lips wrapped around his shaft, the head resting on her tongue. Saliva flooded her mouth. Her tongue rolled, front to back, as she swallowed. 

He growled. His hands held the sides of her head as his hips shifted, sliding his cock deeper into her mouth one slow inch at a time. The tip of his cock touched the back of her throat briefly, and by the time she had suppressed the urge to gag, he had withdrawn again. 

He didn't let her pull away from him, didn't let her follow the motion of his withdrawal from her. His cock slid across her tongue again, stopping just shy of going too far. She wanted to reach up for him, wanted to use her hands on his shaft, on his balls, but the order stood. Do not move. She fought to obey, clenching her eyes shut as he moved in slow, steady thrusts. This wasn't about her, this didn't involve her. This was him using her. Riding her mouth. 

But she couldn't stop her tongue from stroking him as his thrusts grew faster, sucking harder as he withdrew and softening her lips as he pressed deeper. She could taste salt on the back of her tongue when he said hoarsely, "Now, Evelyn."

Freed from his stricture, her hands circled his cock, slipping down the length of him as he stopped moving. Now her head did the work, forward and back, meeting her fingers and sliding away, deep draws of her lips and quick pumps of her hand.

Her lips wrapped around the head of his cock, the tip of her tongue drawing hot circles while her hands continued stroking his hard shaft, wet with her saliva. She dropped one hand away to caress his balls; gentle, light brushes of her fingers and easy clasps of her palm.

His hands clenched deep in her hair, and she heard his growl escalate louder into a full-throated roar, felt his cock shift in her mouth. Her hand slid to the base of his cock one last time and she took more of him in her mouth, then stroked him once, slow, firm, base to her lips, drawing his orgasm out of him as her hand on his balls squeezed slowly.

Salty heat filled her mouth and she swallowed before she could choke. He slammed his hips forward, driving into her mouth, back into her throat and down deeper, following the motion of her swallow. More cum hit the back of her throat and she swallowed again and again, the action countering the urge to gag, throat muscles working against the feel of his thickness.

He shuddered, and even as her tongue swept the length of him, his cock grew softer in her mouth. She pulled away slightly, just enough so the tip of it was again on the back of her tongue. His hands in her hair gentled, petting her though she could feel his hands shake. He rocked his hips twice more against her, then pulled out of her mouth.

Evelyn tried not to feel smug as she sat back on her heels. She kept her eyes down so he wouldn't see the satisfaction in her expression, but he must have been looking down at her because when her tongue slid out to wet her lips, he groaned again.

"Damn, woman," he said, voice husky. Then he turned and walked away, leaving her kneeling on the cushions.

She didn't know why she didn't look up. It just felt right, looking down, kneeling. She heard him settle himself onto the mattress and sigh, deep, satisfied. "Come here," he said, patting the bed.

Evelyn rose, forcing herself to keep the motion smooth and lithe, and walked over to slide onto the bed next to him. He dragged her on top of him, wrapping the strength of his massive arms around her as she nestled her head under his chin.

"Give me about five minutes," he said, voice thick and sleepy. "Then we'll take care of you."

"Taking care of you took care of me," she said, kissing his throat.

He didn't reply, just slid his hands down her bare back, petting her from shoulder to the curve of her buttocks. "Did I hurt you?" he asked.

"No," she assured him. "Well, the back of my throat is a little the worse for wear but it was worth it."

"Hell yeah it was," he said. "If I'd known you knew how to do that, I'd have moved this along a lot faster."

She smiled. "Well you know, I _have_ been to Orlais."

His laughter, warm and rich, rolled under her ear and she hugged him as best she could. "Now that I can think clearly again," he said, "weren't we going to discuss something?"

"Oh. Yes. When we're in the field…"

"Won't be a problem," he said, bending his head to nuzzle her hair. "You're the Inquisitor when it comes to Inquisitorial stuff. Battles, rifts, whatever. You pay the bills. But life, your life, that's all mine."

She thought about that, gradually turning to a boneless puddle between the heat of his body and the steady caresses of his hand. "I'm not sure I can always tell the difference," she confessed.

"I can. I'll teach you."

"I should get back to the others. I want to see who Cullen's got going with us, and make sure Dennet knows to have the horses brought up to overnight here in the keep."

"In a minute," he said.

"I thought I was in charge of Inquisitorial stuff."

"That's not Inquisitorial stuff. That's you worrying."

She smiled and snuggled deeper into his embrace. "All right," she said.

"Evelyn?"

"Hmm?"

"Good girl."


	11. Day Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (No, really, do NOT do this at home. I'm serious, now.)

Evelyn felt the delicate tremble under her fingertips and fought the urge to wipe her palms. Some pressure, but not too much. Some speed, but never haste. A balance between the sensations coming to her and the ones she gave back. Surely a little more force. Just a little—

The slender bit of metal in her hands snapped and she sighed, sitting back from the lock.

"I need thicker picks," she complained, plucking the broken half from the prison door.

"Thicker picks won't fit," Varric said, handing her another lock pick. "You want me to show you? Again?"

Wrinkling her nose at him, Evelyn snatched the new pick and nudged him with one elbow. "You're supposed to be teaching me, not making me feel clumsy."

"Look, you're not bad for someone who's been doing this for shits and grins for five or six years. Don't get mad at me just because I used to earn my living with this crap."

Evelyn finally got to wipe her hands on her thighs and eyed the lock. Skyhold's prison doors may have been old, but the locks were surprisingly sophisticated. They were so far defeating her best efforts to open them.

Varric had them opened in under a minute.

He sat next to her, straddling the bench she had dragged down to sit on, helping himself to the remnants of her dinner. "What made you decide to do this tonight, anyway? Shouldn't you be with your boyfriend?"

She sat cross-legged, one knee touching Varric, and leaned forward to insert both pick and torsion wrench into the lock. "He's spending quality time with the Chargers. I wasn't in the mood for drunken filthy lyric contests."

"Nice to know where I rank."

"Bull suggested it," she said.

"Is that why you're so set on getting this down?"

"That and because I'm not good enough at it."

"And you have to be good at everything? No wonder you never seem to sleep."

"I sleep," she said absently. 

"Yeah, I don't think what you two do qualifies as sleep."

"Fine, then we sleep eventually."

"How does he sleep, anyway? With those horns, it's not like he can toss and turn."

"No," she said, feeling the first lever give way and easing it aside with the torsion wrench. "He sleeps on his back. Snores, too."

"I'll probably gloss over that part in the book," he said, fishing around in the basket on the floor for the wine bottle. "But seriously, you think you'll ever need to pick your own locks?"

"I think by the time I realize I do need to, it'll be too late to practice," she said, feeling her way around the inside of the lock with the pick.

Varric looked over at the sound of the metal-on-metal scraping and winced. "You keep that up," he said, "you're going to have to buy that lock dinner."

She bit her lower lip, eyes dancing. "Don't make me laugh," she said. "I'll lose this."

He fell silent and let her work. She slid aside the next lever and felt for the third. 

"It's just you go from the war room to sparring with Heir or Cullen, schmoozing with the nobles, writing letters and dispatches. I've seen you training horses in war maneuvers, working in the gardens, helping in the infirmary. You never seem to take time off."

"Blame my parents, I guess," she said, head tilting slightly. "They were like that. Mother, especially. She came from…" Evelyn trailed off, concentrating on prising the lever to its proper height.

"What, Rivain?"

"Oh, no, from common stock, as they say. It was important to her that members of the ruling class rule well. And my father was very… Bann Trevelyan. Duty, responsibility, family name, all that."

"I thought your mother was the one who let you run wild."

"Yes, well, I wasn't the child destined to lead the family, was I?" 

"Joke's on her. But you never run wild here. Don't you do anything just for fun?"

"Used to," she said. "Where do you think I learned lock picking?"

"Oh right, your dissolute youth back last year when you were a callow lass of, what, twenty? What else?"

"I don't know," she said, watching the movement of the pick. "Probably better to ask what I did for serious. I was Ostwick marriage-bait. Everything I did was for fun."

"Nothing wrong with that," he said. "You could use a hobby these days, that's all I'm saying."

"Lock picking's a hobby," she said.

"For some people," he agreed. "But you're going at this like your puppy is starving on the other side of the door."

"So that's your complaint?" she murmured, focused mainly on the lock. "I work too hard? What would you suggest I do, lounge around and eat bonbons?"

"I see you as more the peeled grapes type," he said. "I just mean you only seem to have one speed. You're all or nothing, and your nothing is broken."

"Maybe that's why I have Bull," she said, fingers shifting minutely.

"Oh sure, because that's a casual, easygoing relationship you two have."

"I can't handle anything more casual," she said. 

"That doesn't make sense."

"Yes it does," she said, her attention on the feelings come from her fingertips. "Take the trip to the Hinterlands sometime. Just be careful you don't trip over a corpse and land on another corpse. People die while I eat lunch. Some of them die huddled in a ball, hoping I'll show up. Hoping anyone will." She closed her eyes and hesitated, feeling a slip. Carefully, she worked the wrench backward, trying to catch the lever before it fell. "They pray to me, did you know that? Fall on their knees and pray to me. And I'm not even their best hope. I'm their last one." 

Her words stopped as she worked the pick. 

Varric stayed silent.

"Everything's betrayed them," she said eventually. "Their god, their guardians, even their sky. All they want is not to be terrified, not to worry some demon is going to burn down their house with their children inside. For the world to make sense again." Her tongue touched the corners of her lips for a moment. "Makes it hard to take any time to get a milk bath or have my hair done."

Holding her breath, she maneuvered the lever aside. Only then did she exhale.

"You are about three days from a complete mental breakdown," he said finally.

"This is ridiculous. How many levers are in this stupid lock? Who needs a five-lever lock?"

"Someone who knows not everyone gives up at four," he said. "Forget the lock for a minute, will you?"

"Not a chance," she said. "I've almost got it."

"You're wound tighter than Bianca's gears," he said, "and she can punch a bolt through solid plate. _And_ the guy wearing it." 

She didn't look over. There couldn't be more than five levers. That would just be completely unfair. She worked the pick deeper, trying to hold the first four out of the way and at their proper levels.

"In fact, just forget everything I ever said about you and Tiny. If he can—" There was a long, solid minute of blessed silence, then Varric swore softly. "Andraste's glowing tits. That brilliant bastard."

Her left hand was beginning to cramp, too much weight held at too odd an angle, the torsion wrenched pinched too tightly in her fingers. She tried to work faster, feeling for the movement of the last (surely the last!) lever, listening for the sound that would tell her she had the set correct.

Her left hand spasmed, and the torsion wrench clattered to the ground, the lock clacking at her in metallic laughter.

"Fennec fucker," she swore, scowling and shaking out her left hand. "I'm coming back with an axe."

Varric took her left hand in his. Mercilessly he forced her palm wide open, his broad, strong thumbs crushing into the muscle. 

She yelped and tried to pull away, but he held her effortlessly. "Now now, Princess, no one likes a crybaby inquisitor," he chastised.

"That hurts, and I am not a princess." She tried again to take her hand back, but he gripped her wrist with his other hand and didn't let her go. 

He gave a yank on her arm that spun her on the bench toward him, her legs still crossed. "It suits you. You're kind of like a princess."

"Regal?" she suggested.

"Spoiled," he said.

That made her laugh. "I am not."

"Sure you are. I hear you get jam on your biscuits. Y'know who else gets jam? Princesses." He continued to massage away the cramp over her whines of protest. "You make less fuss when you get stabbed," he said.

"The people stabbing me are usually my enemies, not my erstwhile friends."

"Oo. Erstwhile. Big word. Y'know who else uses big words?"

"Poncy little writers—OW!"

"Oops."

She stopped complaining and let him ease the cramp out of her hand. Even when the cramp had released, she didn't say anything. And he didn't stop, though his touch did gentle some. "Varric?" she asked.

"Hm?"

"How did you know about my mother? That she let me run wild, I mean."

"Well, you know me. I collect rumors like mice collect shiny things," he said.

She nodded a bit. "The thing is, I'm fairly certain Bull's the only one I told that to. I think I even used those exact words. So he must've told it to you."

"Figuring at some point we'd talk about it."

"Probably."

After a moment, Varric sighed. "He's doing to me too, isn't he?"

"I think so."

"That is one manipulative son of a bitch you've got there, Princess."

"So far it all seems for a good cause. I'm just grateful he doesn't use those powers for evil."

They both fell silent again, heads almost touching as they bent over their joined hands, both watching him smooth out the muscles in her palm. "Any idea why he wanted the two of us to bond over your family history?"

"Not a clue," she said. "I never know half of what that man's up to. It's a bit disheartening, being the stupid one in a relationship."

"If it gets too annoying, you can always have someone chop his head off."

She smiled and looked up as he did.

They were almost nose to nose, scant inches from each other. The silence swirled between them, filled the air with unspoken moments that passed untaken.

Eventually, Varric said, "Uh, at some point, this changed into me holding your hand in a dungeon, didn't it?"

"Yes, I believe it did."

"That's a little awkward." He released her and sat back, then swung his leg over the bench and turned away to collect the lock picks. "I think I'll just go back to my room and try to avoid getting pasted by any jealous Qunari on the way."

Evelyn watched him slide the fold of leather containing his lock picks into his shirt. She sat on the bench, not moving as he walked away. "Varric?" she said.

"Yeah?"

"It was also nice, not just awkward."

He glanced back over his shoulder and offered her half a smile. "Sweet dreams, Princess."

 

She dropped off the basket with the remains of dinner in the kitchens, declining a pot of tea before making the long climb up the stairs to her room.

Bull wasn't there.

She dragged her desk chair onto the balcony and grabbed the heaviest blanket from the bed. Wrapping it around herself, she sat and stared out at the mountains. She should have slept, she knew that, but the cold kept her awake even while the blanket kept her from freezing, and she wanted to think.

She didn't look up when the back of his hand stroked her cheek, just closed her eyes and leaned briefly into the caress.

"Warm enough?" Bull asked.

She nodded.

"Usually Varric cheers you up," he said. "You don't look like you spent the night laughing. Something happen I should know about?"

"No," she said. "We talked. I completely failed to pick the prison locks. Neither one of us could figure out why you wanted us to be together."

He was silent for a moment. She didn't look up.

Then he picked her up, chair and all, and carried her inside, putting her down to close the doors to the balcony. When he turned to do so, she stood up, still wrapped in the blanket, and walked to the bed to sit, the only piece of furniture in the room large enough to hold them both.

He glanced at her as she walked, then followed her to the bed. Pulling off his boots, he said, "All right. Let's hear it."

"I think you should start. Why Varric? Why tell him about my family?"

"You like him."

"I like a lot of people."

"No," he said, giving a shake of his head, the blackened tips of his horns seeming to vanish in the dim light. "With most of them, you're the Inquisitor. Josephine, Vivienne…"

"I like Blackwall."

"You like that he's a Grey Warden. You want to be someone he'll respect."

"Dorian, then. He makes me laugh."

"With him, you're Lady Trevelyan. Took me a minute to catch on to that mask; you wear it well, but then you've been playing that part most of your life."

She shifted, facing him more and examining his expressions. "What about Cullen?"

He chuckled and lifted a hand to rub his chin. "Cullen could be trouble," he said. "He respects the Inquisitor, and has a crush on Lady Trevelyan. He's starting to put the two together, though, so he's getting closer."

"He does not have a crush on me."

"He does. But I just have to manage him for a bit longer, then it won't matter anymore."

"And then what, he's not a threat to you? I could develop a crush on him too, you know."

"You already have one," he said. "And Cullen's not a threat to me. Just to you. Had to give that one a lot of thought, but it's better this way. Even if he is still sniffing around."

"He isn't sniffing around!"

"So Varric," he said.

Evelyn struggled with the change of subject. She wanted too many answers, but decided to shelve the question of Cullen for now. "Fine. Varric. Why Varric?"

"He's the only one you're Evelyn around. Besides me, I mean. He's got a way of getting underneath, finding out what's really going on. He'd make a nasty Ben-Hassrath, come to think of it. No one would ever see him coming."

"Aren't you worried, then, that he'll figure out your master plan? Whatever this big reason is that you're hiding from me?"

"Not hiding," he corrected. "Protecting. I'm protecting it from you. It's like a spider web; hit it with a big enough bug before it's built, it'll fall apart."

"So I'm a bug now?"

He grinned. "A big one."

She eyed him sidelong.

He sighed. "Come here, Evelyn."

Distinctly not in the mood for sex, Evelyn nonetheless scooted across the bed, disentangling her long legs from the blanket. But when she expected him to set her on her feet and start removing her clothes, instead he pulled her into his lap, wrapping an arm behind her to keep her upright, to hold her close. "Why are you unhappy?" he murmured, brushing his lips over her hair.

"Do you know, I'm not sure?" she said.

"Mm. I think I know."

"We've talked about this. You know that's annoying."

He chuckled a little. "Your heart figures things out faster than your head, that's all. That's what makes you so good at small team tactics. You can go with your gut and everything falls the way you want it to. You just have to learn how to get the information to your brain faster. We'll work on that."

She tilted her head back. "How do you know we'll have time?" she asked. "Discounting the fact that one of us will probably die before it's all over, why are you so sure this is permanent? You always talk about this like it's forever."

"Because it is."

"But how do you know? What if we get tired of each other?"

"Doesn't matter," he said.

"Of course it matters."

He rested his other arm over her legs, hand on her hip. "Did we start this relationship because we wanted each other?"

"I started this relationship because…" She faltered.

"Because you think I'm hot, I know. Go on."

That got a laugh out of her. "Yes, because of sex. I don't know why you started it. So I don't know why you're so sure it will last."

"I see. So after you get tired of my battered, drained husk of a body, you're going to abandon me?"

"I may," she said lightly. "There's bound to be some other Qunari out there with bigger muscles…"

He twisted at the waist and rolled, dropping her onto the mattress and pinning her under him. "That is not the way this works," he growled through her soft laugh.

Her smile faded, and she lifted a hand to his face, brushed her fingers through the whiskers on his jaw. "How does it work, then? Please tell me."

"You're mine. It's that simple. It doesn't matter if you love me. It doesn't matter if we don't want each other anymore. Doesn't matter if you take five other lovers in every city we go to."

"What if I decide it does? What if I don't want to be owned by anyone?"

His hand smoothed strands of her hair out of her face. "Then that would be my failure," he said. "Ownership isn't just about getting to tell you when to suck my dick, though that's one of the benefits. It's a responsibility. I didn't ask you about this, didn't give you a choice. So now I have to make sure your life is a good one."

He kissed her lightly. "Everything I decide from now on is not only about what's good for me, but what's best for you, too."

"What if… What if you have to go back to the rest of the Qunari and I have to stay here?"

"Then I'll go and come back."

"What if they won't let you go?"

"They will. Or I'll send someone for you. They'll understand, if I tell them what I've done."

Her lips curved up at the corners. "You know, you haven't really done all that much," she said, wriggling a little to get more comfortable. "Just some slightly unusual sex."

"I have, though." His thumb brushed over her cheekbone. "And I'll keep doing it, too."

"But you haven't."

He chuckled. "You really are hard-headed, aren't you? No wonder you're a non-believer. You have to have everything shoved up your nose before you'll accept it."

She frowned sharply but before she could speak he put a hand over her mouth. "Evelyn, were you or were you not just last night on your knees in front of me while I fucked your mouth? Didn't you just kneel there with your hands at your sides and take it, because that's what I told you to do?"

That stilled her arguments, and only in part because of the abrupt rush of heat and hunger his words brought out.

One corner of his mouth lifted, his eye narrowing in satisfaction. He moved his hand, but only enough to trace his thumb over her lips. "I tied you down, wrapped you in a horse cinch, had my finger in your ass while I licked you raw, and the only thing you had to say was "yes, please, ser". Do you remember that?"

Her nod was tiny, but he saw it and nodded as well, slower. "Mm hmm. I thought you'd remember. Either of those sound like something you'd have done before I took you?"

She gave an equally tiny headshake. 

"So we can agree that I am changing you." He didn't wait for a response. "You'll do anything I tell you to do, partly because you have begun to trust that I will never hurt you in any way. Partly because, and I want you to hear this, Evelyn…"

He dipped his head closer to hers, his hand leaving her lips to cup her chin, force her head to one side. His lips touched her ear, and he whispered, "Because you _are_ mine. I could make you cum right now and never touch you more than I am. Your body knows its master."

Evelyn arched off the bed, rolling against him in one sinuous wave of motion. Her eyes closed, lips parted, and when he kissed her, he stole the last breath from her body.

Then he was gone, and she gasped. 

"You have until I get what I want out of the chest," he said. "If you're still dressed, I'm cutting your clothes off you."

Evelyn scrambled, yanking her shirt off over her head, tangled briefly in the arms. She didn't bother to fold it, just threw it away from her and rolled to the edge of the bed to fight with her boots. The laces took precious seconds, and she heard the lid of the trunk bang shut. Hastily, she pushed her pants off and wriggled out of them, leaving them in a pile on top of her boots. When she slid back onto the bed, her feet slipped free. She reached for the knot of the band.

"Stop."

Her fingers paused on the knot.

"Come here."

She slid back to the edge of the bed, looking up at him. In the dim remnants of the fire, she could see the full naked length of him, the shift of muscle under skin, the gleam of battle scars, the silvered shine of a knife in his hands. Her feet touched the cold floor, flinched from the contact, then she stood.

He stepped forward. The blade traced a thin path across the soft leather. She stared at his face, at the angles and edges of him, at the gleam from his eye as he watched the point of the knife trail across the rise of her nipple. "Do you remember your word, Evelyn?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," she said, mouth dry. 

He looked up without lifting his head.

"Yes, ser."

With a flick of his wrist, the blade slid through the leather, parting it. It fluttered to the floor, brushing the curve of her hip as it fell. He ignored it. The point of the blade traced over her skin, hesitated, then drew a line around the mark of his mouth on the swell of her left breast. Not deep enough to pierce her skin, not dull enough to be painless, it scratched the bruised flesh.

Abruptly, he flipped the dagger around and threw it across the room. She heard it thunk into a bookcase. Then he took her by the shoulders and spun her around, pushing her up against a post of the bed, the flat of his hand between her shoulder blades. "Stand," he said.

His hand moved. She did not. Something skittered across the top of the bedposts, and she flinched when it fell, tickling her face. Rope, she realized, and bit her lip.

She must have made some sound, because she heard his low chuckle. His body pressed against hers, searing heat against her chill skin. The feel of him on her, against her, made her shiver in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. She sighed, soft and long, and leaned back against him, dropping her head.

His lips touched the back of her neck, a kiss, a nibble, a bite. Evelyn jerked beneath him, but couldn't go far. Her breasts flattened against the post and she shifted so that it ran directly up her breastbone. He ran his hands down her arms and took hold of her wrists, lifting them high over her head. She looked up to watch him bind her wrists together, doubled strips of rope twining around and around, twisting over and under each other in quick flips that she couldn't analyze.

Finally, the rope led from the thick cuffs she now wore to a twist between them, then up to the top of the bed. Spare ends dangled, tickling her side.

He took the ends and pulled slowly. Rope slid on rope. Her hands lifted higher, then higher still, pulling until her weight rested entirely on her toes and her wrists. Then he pushed her head to tilt down, and she felt his fingers bury in her hair. They tugged and released over and over with occasional pulls on the rope on her hands.

Finally, he stepped back. Evelyn hesitated, then moved experimentally. The rope had some play, but the give turned out to be entirely in her hair. If she went down off her toes, her hair pulled painfully. If she eased the tension on her hair, she had to balance on her toes. She whimpered and found her best compromise: head down, back stretched, just barely off the balls of her feet.

"Nice," he murmured, stroking the taut line of her back. "I like you like this." He dropped his head to her bare left shoulder, tasting her skin. The tip of his right horn scored her right forearm. His hands caressed the soft curve of her ass, then he stepped away from her. The cold air of the room hit her like the crack of a whip, and she shivered anew.

He moved beside her and set something on the bed. She turned her head to look, carefully, feeling the tug on her hair. 

"Nah," he said sternly. "Close your eyes."

She obeyed.

Soft leather wrapped over her eyes, the remains of the band he had cut off her. He knotted it under the upswept length of her hair, then patted her ass.

Evelyn felt a momentary hit of panic. She could barely move, couldn't see. Still, she swung her head about, trying for any available angle that let in a peek of light and didn't yank on her hair.

He covered her body with his, hot and hard. She felt his cock nudge against the crack of her ass and stilled. "Shh," he said. "You don't need to see, Evelyn. You just need to feel."

He didn't wait for her trembling to stop. His hands fell to her hips, holding her steady, pulling her very slightly back from the bedpost. It stretched her arms a fraction more, pulled more on her hair, lifted her until only some of her toes barely dragged the floor. His hips moved, his cock sliding down between her thighs, across her lower lips. It was a smooth glide, and she could feel a silky dampness not her own down the length of his cock.

His fingers tightened on her hips as he rocked against her, over her, but never into her. His head dropped to her shoulder again, and she could hear and feel his harsh breaths, sharp exhales timed to each thrust between her legs. 

His right hand slid forward to cup the curls across her mound, left arm moving around her waist, taking some of the weight off her shoulders. He caught her clit between two fingers, circled a finger through her dampness, brought it forward with slick fingers to tease her clit. 

Evelyn's muscles jumped. Her hips tried to shift, but she couldn't move. His arm held her, she had no leverage, dangling by wrist and hair. She bit back a frustrated whimper, unable to do more than lift a foot she had to immediately put back down.

His thrusts never broke their rhythm, hips striking her ass, stroking and circling her clit with his strong, thick finger. Her head couldn't go back, her hands couldn't reach for him. Her hands clenched and released overhead, and soft wordless cries fell into a darkness she couldn't see.

And when he stopped moving against her, she still couldn't do anything about it. From the rustle, she knew he picked something up off the bed, then felt it against her ass. Cold, hard, long, uneven in texture. He stroked it lower, ran it between her legs, over her labia.

"Evelyn," he said, low, coaxing. "Come back just a little, girl. Tell me if you remember your word."

"Yes, ser," she breathed.

He twisted it, and she could feel little round beads rolling against her skin where they warmed and grew slick, wet. His fingers spread her cheeks apart.

Suddenly she understood what was about to happen and tried to jerk away from him. He shoved her forward, pinning her against the bedpost, removing from her the last bit of movement left to her. His growl rumbled against her back as he leaned into her. 

Between their bodies, his hand parted her ass cheeks again. Slowly, one of the beads slid into her. Her hips shifted left, right, and he paused but only for a heartbeat. She felt it glide deeper into her and skittered on her toe tips, though she had nowhere to go, no escape.

"Learn your lesson, Evelyn," he whispered against her ear. "Every inch of you is mine. Every. Fucking. Inch."

She felt the press of another little ball, larger, against her already sore opening. With a quick push, it penetrated her. She cried out, hunched her shoulders higher, pulled as far away as she could from the violation. 

Again he paused, and when she did nothing more than writhe, he turned the stick between his fingers, making the beads roll inside her, making her squirm. He increased the pressure. She felt the beads push farther in, felt the size of a third bead against her. It seemed huge, impossibly so. "No," she whimpered. "Please, ser, no." Tears trickled down her face, cooling rapidly, spattering from her cheeks to his arm.

Slow. Firm. Steady. Her muscles worked, clenching and releasing, and he timed the final push into her perfectly. 

Pain, pleasure, shame, desire. She fell, weight dropping entirely onto her shoulders. Instantly his arm was around her again, lifting her just slightly, just enough, until she got her shaking legs under control.

When he was sure she could hold herself up, he released her again. Before she could accustom herself to the feel of the beads inside her, something else cold and rounded pressed against her heated slit, and she yelped, ready to scream out her watchword. Then the very tip eased in and out of her, spreading her slit wider with each tiny pump, leaving her ass alone. 

Gradually he made the strokes longer, deeper, sinking it all the way into her, stretching her around it. It withdrew entirely, then entered her again until she felt his fist hit her. Out and in, smooth and rhythmic, each thrust making the beads in her ass shift inside of her.

Finally, finally he gave it one last stroke, left it deep inside her, filling her. With a groan, he took her hips again and rammed his cock between the softness of her thighs, licked by the heat and wetness he had drawn from her. There was no more patience in his movements, no gentleness. He slammed into her again and again, only his hands keeping her from being shoved against the bedpost.

When his fingers rolled over her clit again, she exploded and still could not move. Utterly helpless, held up only the strength of his arm around her, she bit her lips hard and muffled her cries.

His voice, harsh and low, in her ear. "Scream," he growled.

She surrendered and obeyed.

Somewhere she was aware of his deeper outcry underlying the scream that burst from her, aware of the sudden clench of his arm that drove the breath from her, of the sudden rush of hot stickiness on her thighs. Still his fingers teased her, dragging out of her another, shorter scream. His weight crushed her, shoving her hard against the bedpost. She felt the tremble in his fingers as they worked on her, drawing a last long wail from her.

He held her like that, body against his, his hand dropping away from her while he caught his breath. One of his arms rose, rested against the bedpost over her head. Finally he pushed away and used both hands to strip the rope from her braided hair, tugging it loose to give her shoulders some freedom. The soles of her feet instantly hit the floor.

"Gently," he said, voice raspy. "Don't let them drop. Bring them down slow."

That, he left to her and she obeyed him in this as well, easing her arms lower and lower, feeling the rope give as she did. He reached between her legs and pulled out the long object inside of her, making her twitch again. One by one, slowly he eased the beads out of her, ignoring her tiny, abortive movements and sharp, jerky inhalations.

Her wrists were freed next, and only when she was completely free did he take the blindfold off her eyes. Without asking or waiting, he dragged her onto the bed and fell onto the mattress next to her.

They lay in silence, in darkness. Evelyn's pulse fell to normal. Before she could feel the renewed sting of the cold, he fumbled with a flap of the blanket they were on, pulling it over her. She scooted closer to him to absorb some of his body heat.

Her fingers danced hesitantly over his chest.

Sleepily, he muttered, "What?"

"I don't… I don't think I like that."

He shifted a little, craning his neck to look down at her. She didn't look up. "Don't like what?"

"Those… bead things."

He relaxed. "You sure seem to."

"It's…" This time she couldn't complete the thought.

"Weird?"

"Yes."

"All you had to do was say one word."

She didn't reply.

"Good weird or bad weird?"

"Both," she admitted finally.

He worked an arm under her, stroked her back. "If you don't enjoy them, we won't use them. But first decide if you don't like it or if you think you shouldn't like it as much as you do."

She thought about it, still toying with his skin. She ached everywhere, from her scalp to her sore calves. She felt wonderful. Her eyes drifted shut. "I should help you clean up," she murmured.

"Let's leave it for the servants," he said, yawning. "That should make for some great gossip."

She fell asleep smiling.


	12. The Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I wrote this today, thinking to make it part of Day 12, then I thought maybe it belonged on its own. Kind of a pity that the chapter numbers and Day numbers won't line up anymore, but I like this and Day 12 is looking to be a monster chapter as far as length goes. Besides, Kizzy was on Twitter and she said she'd rather have the Interlude. So here. Have an interlude. It's nice. Also, look! I discovered how to do notes instead of putting notes in the Summary. I r smart.)

Leliana jerked her head back as a projectile flew past, missing her nose by a hair's breadth. "It's no use," she said. "He's too good. We're pinned."

"And it won't be long before they send in their heavy fighters," Cullen noted, using a fist to knock a hole in their wall and peering through it.

Evelyn, her back to the wall, looked at the last two of her people still standing. "I'll go," she said.

"No!"

"Inquisitor!"

She overrode them with a slash of her hand. "Leliana's our only hope for taking out that damned archer," she said. "I'll go. He'll take a shot at me, he won't be able to resist, and when he does, he'll expose himself. Leliana will take him out. You'll need her aim, Cullen, and your strength if you're to have any hope of surviving this."

They didn't object further. Cullen reached around Leliana to grasp her shoulder. "Maker keep you safe," he said.

Leliana readied herself, then nodded once to Evelyn.

Evelyn crouched and took a breath, then threw herself out onto the battlefield. The first missile whipped past her as she twisted desperately to one side, but the second caught her on her hip and she went down. She could only hope her sacrifice had been worth it.

"Got him!" Leliana cried.

Varric scrubbed at his chest, frantically brushing the snow off even as the remnants of Leliana's snowball melted down his stomach. "Maker's Breath, Nightengale! You couldn't have aimed for my head or something?"

Evelyn grinned at him. "Die with some dignity, dwarf!" she yelled.

"Dead inquisitors can't talk!" Bull bellowed. "Clear the battlefield, you two!"

Obediently, they both headed off the snowfield to the incongruous circle of bare rock. Heat rippled up and Evelyn sighed in relief as she crossed the boundary. "I love magic," she said, pulling her cloak off her shoulders and shaking it out. Snow fell in clumps, melting into puddles on the warmed stone.

Dorian looked up from his discussion with Solas and flashed her a grin, topping it off with a two-finger salute. Solas tapped the makeshift table with a finger, drawing his attention back to a diagram Evelyn couldn't even interpret, let alone argue.

Varric handed her a rough mug of hot cider, then dipped another for himself out of the pot hanging over the fire. "Gutsy move," he said. "You've got this whole self-sacrifice thing down pat."

"I try not to do it so much when there are actual missiles flying," she said, sipping carefully.

"Is that some kind of new rule for you since staying behind to drop an avalanche on a dragon?"

"One should always learn and grow from one's experiences."

"Don't worry; it's just us. We won't tell anyone about the magnificent aim and throwing arm that took down the Inquisitor."

"It's most of you, anyway." She looked around. "Do I want to know where Blackwall and Sera got off to?"

"She needs what she doesn't know he wants. He wants what he doesn't know she needs. They fall into each other's blank spaces. It's nice."

"Drink your cider, Kid," Varric advised Cole. "The cold's freezing your brain."

Evelyn blinked at Cole. "Does that mean what I think it does?" she asked. "But Sera's gay."

"Not all holes can be filled with sex," Cole said. "My cider has no season." He vanished.

"Kid's a little sideways, but he's got a point," Varric said.

"I'll try not to take it personally."

"For the best. Any idea why Vivienne declined to come along? In writing, no less?"

Evelyn wrinkled her nose. "I tried to be nice to her. She gave me that supercilious Orlesian mage attitude, I dished it right back with my 'I'm an _actual_ noble' bit, and that was the end of that friendship."

"Yeah, but in writing? That was harsh. What if you need her for something?"

"I'll turn Josephine loose on her."

Varric clunked his mug against hers. "Smart move."

She turned to watch the snowball fight rage on. Cassandra was trying to burrow through the snow toward Cullen and Leliana. "This was a wonderful idea," she said. "I think we all needed this."

"Didn't think I'd pull it off, until I got Tiny on my side."

Her eyes shifted to the Qunari, who was doing his best to talk Josephine into something behind the wall Cassandra had abandoned. "He can be persuasive," she said.

"I don't know how much persuading he actually did," Varric said. "Didn't he just grab you and throw you on your horse?"

She grinned, turning back to Varric. "Something like that," she said. "What can I say? He's in charge."

"There are some people who probably shouldn't hear you say that, you know. Makes 'em think the Qunari are running the Inquisition."

A flip of her hand waved that aside. "Oh, it's nothing like that," she said. "The inquisition is mine."

"And he's in charge, right? So forgive me if I'm not seeing the distinction."

She thought about it, blowing into her mug to cool it enough for another sip. "I don't know that I can explain it," she admitted finally. 

"Try," he suggested. "Look, you're strong, tough, charismatic. You stepped into command like you just decided you'd had enough of the rest of us fumbling around. So what makes him in charge?"

"I think Dorian knows how to explain it, but he won't say a word. And didn't you just yesterday call Bull a brilliant bastard?"

"Sure, but that's because I figured out why. I still don't know how, or how you're keeping it all separate."

She set her mug down with a sharp bang. "You know why? And you're not telling me? Varric!"

"For the record," Dorian broke in, "I know both."

"Shut it, you," she said.

Solas laughed.

"Sorry, Princess. That's Tiny's to tell. I hate to ruin a good surprise."

She glared at him. "You don't know why," she said finally. "You're just fibbing."

"Fibbing? Did you just say 'fibbing'?"

"I think I know something of the why," she said. "I know he wants to change me. He thinks I'm killing myself somehow. I don't know why he thinks that, and I'm not sure why it matters to him. And I think I know a little of how. He said sex is a tool, a weapon to get inside my mind. There were, I gather, other methods he could have chosen but this one is at least fun."

Peripherally, she saw Dorian hold up one finger to Solas and turn to look at her, to listen.

She shrugged. "And don't ask me how to keep it separate. Sometimes it's obvious to me, sometimes it's not. Decisions about what the Inquisition does or where it goes are mine to make. What causes we take up, who we aid and who we fight. Those are my choices." 

She looked over at Bull. "But life," she said softly, "my life, that's all his."

The silence at the table drew her attention back around. She looked between the three men, blushed, looked down at her mug. "That's what he says anyway and why must we always talk about my personal life?"

"Probably because you're the only one getting any lately. We're all voyeurs, Princess, and you have the most interesting sex life going."

"True," Dorian noted.

"Oh be quiet, the lot of you."

Varric looked at Dorian. "Lost cause?"

"All over but the actual surrender," he said. "You'll know when that happens because she'll be walking funny and won't want to sit."

"Yeah, see, now you went too far even for me."

Shrieks and roars from the snow field made them all turn to look. Bull was holding Josephine up by the shoulders, her feet swaying, fur-covered body peppered with snowballs. The ambassador covered her face with her arms, but that didn't muffle her laughter.

"Cheat!" Leliana said, hurling another missile at him. "You can't use the dead as a shield!"

Bull shifted Josephine slightly to intercept the snowball. "Time-honored tradition!" he yelled back.

Cullen ran to one side, waving Leliana over to the other. "Flank him, flank him!"

Cassandra burst from the snow, nailing Cullen with one snowball even as his struck Bull's shoulder. Leliana skittered to a halt and slipped on the ice, slinging one last projectile at Cassandra side-armed as she fell, hitting the former Seeker on the back of the neck.

"Winner!" Leliana said, popping back up again. "Orlais is triumphant!"

Three snowballs hit her in quick succession.

Evelyn fell back against Dorian, laughing too hard to stay upright.

 

All too soon for her tastes, they had packed up the supplies on the couple of horses they had brought and prepared to return over the bridge to Skyhold proper. Evelyn looked around at the rocks, the heat already fading in the cold mountain air, and the torn up battlefield with its battered walls. Just beyond, standing by the chasm that separated their picnic spot from the keep, was one lone snowman, his back to the castle.

Evelyn stared at him, at his somewhat bulbous head, at the faded wine stains that decorated his face. Half Dalish, half Dead Caste, she and Josephine had declared, justifying their use of tattoos. His arms were burly pieces of gnarled wood, Blackwall insisting that mere sticks would never suffice. From somewhere, Cole had produced a feather for his head so that he would always know which way the wind was blowing. The chips of stone they'd used for his eyes stared blankly past her, keeping watch over the approach, unblinking.

Wind picked up a scattering of ice and snow, blowing against him, away from him, blurring his features. After a moment, she walked over to Varric. Without asking, she reached behind him to untie the red bandana he wore. "Hey!" he protested. She slid it free, ignoring his protest, then took it to the snowman to tie it around his neck before stepping back.

Behind her, there was silence save for one of the horses shaking his bridle.

Bull's footsteps crunched in the snow, then his arms slid around her waist. She folded her arms over his and leaned against him. 

"You're not alone," he said softly.

One by one, they each turned and walked away, back into Skyhold.


	13. Day Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I am not kidding when I say I've wanted to write this for-freaking-ever, but trying to do it without turning SOMEone into a rampant asshole was not easy.)

The rest of the day wasn't nearly as peaceful.

An afternoon off, even just for a few hours, meant work had piled up back at the keep. Sorting through dispatches took hours, and most of them generated more work; letters had to be written and carefully phrased, more diplomats had arrived while they had lunched and played, and they had to be soothed and reassured as to Skyhold's strength and commitment. Yet another argument had flared up between the mages and the soldiers, this one over practice space. Gatsi had to be consulted about the feasibility of repairing a tower for the mages to use for study.

Through it all, Evelyn never lost sight of Bull. Even when she was in Josephine's office he had lingered nearby, arms folded over his chest.

Evelyn herself mostly ignored him except for a curious glance or two, and the others followed her lead. And if she were being honest, she had to admit he did keep some meetings much shorter than they might otherwise have been. Orlesian nobles in particular seemed intimidated by his presence.

Still, he didn't directly interfere. Even when she knew her day was getting late and anticipated him interrupting to make her eat or drag her off to sleep, he didn't say anything. He just followed her from task to task, silent, patient.

Darkness had long since overtaken the mountains when they finally managed to go back to their room.

"Do you ever mean to tell me what today was all about?" she asked as he opened the door to their chamber for her.

"What do you mean?"

Her boots scuffed the stairs with each step. Lifting her feet properly felt like too much of an effort, and her body hadn't forgiven her for the snow fight earlier on top of all the assorted bruises she'd taken that hadn't yet healed. "You, following me about. You've not done that before."

"Yeah," he said slowly. "Yeah, I know."

She pushed the last door open and walked into her cold rooms, sighing. The fire was low, but someone did stop by to tend it from time to time, so at least she didn't have to start from scratch. "I think that's the first time I've ever heard you sound hesitant," she said. "Can't say that makes me feel all that comfortable. Is this an Evelyn thing or an Inquisitor thing?"

He sat on the flat-topped chest at the end of the bed and watched her build up the fire. "An Evelyn thing," he said.

"Thank the Maker. I'm about Inquisitored out for one day."

"Come here," he said.

Yet another sigh escaped her, this one full of relief and a release of tension. With a smile, she walked to stand in front of him, hands at her side.

But his face was troubled as he began unfastening her shirt.

Unease tickled the bottom of her stomach. "Bull," she said, lifting a hand to trace his jawline. "What is it?"

But he didn't answer her, just continued undressing her. And he didn't chastise her for moving or touching him as he did so. Her unease grew. 

So did his frown. He ran a finger lightly down the center of her chest, where a chain of bruises trailed down the length of her breastbone. There were still vivid bruises on her hip, thigh, and shoulder from her fall, and more on her hips from his fingers. His hands turned her, gentle on her waist, so he could see her back.

_"Parshaara,"_ he muttered, turning her to face him again. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"

She blinked down at him. "About what? You've seen most of them, these few hardly seem to matter."

"They matter to me."

Bull stood and lifted the lid on the chest.

Hesitantly, Evelyn sat on the bed and pulled a pillow in front of her, wrapping her arms around it. When he finished rummaging, he closed the chest and looked over at her.

Some of the frown cleared from his expression. "Ah Evelyn, no, girl. You've done nothing wrong." He sat next to her, pulled her into his lap. "I may have."

"It's funny," she said, resting her head on his shoulder. "I can walk around all day giving orders that affect the lives of thousands, but seeing you uncertain makes everything else feel precarious as well."

He kissed her forehead. "That's not funny," he said. "That's good."

She tilted her head back. "Good?"

"It means you rely on me. I like that."

"Of course I rely on you," she said with a quizzical smile. 

That earned her a laugh. "Of course, she says."

Her smile grew, eyes sparkling. "Hmm, does that mean I get a reward?"

He dumped her over backward onto the mattress and shifted himself around. His hips nudged hers wider, and her legs spread for him. "It might at that," he said, lightly biting her lower lip.

Evelyn forgot to care about her bruises, even about his concerns. All she could feel was him between her thighs, his bare chest hot against her breasts, his lips and tongue claiming her mouth. Her hips lifted, rose against him, legs twining around his hips, demanding his attention.

The alarm bell rang.

His weight vanished off her and she spun off the bed and to her feet, grabbing her armor off her stand, eschewing the shirt that went beneath it to shrug on the padded scale links and the leather tunic that went over them. Her hand rose and she snatched her weapon harness out of the air, tossed to her by Bull before he yanked on his own harness.

She stepped into the leather pants, leaving them unfastened to grab her boots, opting for the soft leather ones in place of the armored ones, favoring speed over protection.

Bull grabbed her and shoved something in her hand.

She glanced down at the small vial of red liquid, then shook her head impatiently. "I'm not—"

"Drink it, Evelyn."

She tossed back the contents. Aches and pains vanished in the resultant explosion of tingling. Before it could stop, she tossed the glass aside and sprinted for the stairs, Bull in front of her, knocking open the doors as fast as he could reach them.

The hall was chaotic, full of courtiers running around. "Get these people in their rooms!" she snapped at the guardsmen in the hall. "I don't want to see a hair on a civilian head!"

They bashed their fists against their chests and began pulling and pushing people into the side corridors, clearing the way for her. She took the first set of stairs down, but ignored the last set and jumped to the ground. The courtyard was even more of a madhouse than the hall had been, but one quick glance assured her it was mostly guardsmen running to posts. She saw Blackwall striding up from the stable area, and to her right Cassandra stepped out of the armory.

Evelyn took a deep breath. "Cullen!" she called, her voice ringing over the din.

"Here, Inquisitor!" he said, the same clarion-clear battleground voice that she herself used. 

She looked up and saw him on the wall. "What goes?"

"Too soon to say," he called down. "Torches. Lots of them. Horses, too, but moving slowly."

"Refugees?"

"Could be."

Leliana was beside her as if she'd simply materialized there. "Wait," she said. "We have scouts on the mountain. One of them should—there!"

The spymaster flung up her hand and whistled. A wheeling crow, impossible to see against the darkness, creeled in reply and spun down to land on her arm, flirting its wings in the cold air. There was no note attached to its leg, but there was a simple bit of green cloth.

"Friendlies," Leliana interpreted for them.

"Open the gates," she said to Cullen.

"Inquisitor, are you sure? It could be a—"

"Open them, Commander."

She kept walking, Cassandra taking up a position behind her. Evelyn took the time to properly fasten her daggers, to reach over her shoulders and check that she could easily reach both hilts, that they slid in and out of their sheaths. 

"You might want to secure your breeches as well," Cassandra said calmly.

"Oh. Right. Um. Thank you."

They arrived at the massive gates just as they opened and Evelyn slipped through. Cassandra followed to one side, Blackwall to the other, and Dorian's staff called up a shining light for them to see by.

"Dreadfully inconvenient, these night attacks," he said with what she wasn't positive was an unfeigned yawn. "If this is Corypheus, remind me to have a chat with him about his manners."

"Refugees, we think," Evelyn said, walking rapidly across the bridge. The torches were close enough to be seen.

"And if they're not?" Blackwall growled. "Someone want to tell me why we're walking out from the nice safe walls to fight on a bridge?"

"You can go back if you like," she said, lips quirking up.

"Someone has to see that you don't get yourself killed with one of these idiotic stunts."

She chuckled, then stopped in the middle of the bridge. From the line of torches, a horse broke free and galloped toward them. Its gait was labored, weary. Behind her, she heard the crackle of Dorian's magic, and the song of two swords clearing leather echoed on either side.

One of Leliana's scouts, distinctive in his pale green hood marred though it was by soot and blood, slid off the horse and dropped to one knee. 

"Inquisitor," he said. "I bring refugees. They beg shelter from the Inquisition. The village of Twinbrook is destroyed."

Message delivered, he toppled forward, his head landing on her boot.

 

"Cullen!" Evelyn yelled through the renewed din, half-dragging the scout, his arm slung over her shoulder. Soldiers pushed past, their places being taken by healers and clerics. Horses, exhausted but frightened at the clamor, skittered on the cobblestones. Freed from the exhausting march and the terror of discovery, children screamed and mothers wept while the wounded called out for mercy and the grieving gave vent to their heartbreak. "Dammit. CULLEN!"

He shoved through to her side. "Inquisitor."

"Get a company together. Have them ride along that backtrail, make sure they weren't followed. Out a day at least, more if they see anything suspicious. Less if they find an actual army heading this way. Leliana!"

"Here, Inquisitor."

"Send some of your birds with them. Enough to bring us regular reports, no more than four hours apart."

"Yes, Inquisitor."

Evelyn handed off the scout to one of the clerics and let her lead the man to the area being cleared by the surgeon. Now she could look around, get her bearings.

There were so many.

"Where will we put them?" Cassandra asked, subdued.

"Inquisitor," the surgeon said. "We have to get them inside. We'll have amputations by morning, given the degree of frostbite I'm seeing."

Evelyn nodded. "Get with the mages and the herbalists. See how many potions we have available, how thin we can spread them. A sip might do to save a limb." She turned to Cassandra. "Go find Ser Morris."

The Seeker nodded and strode away.

She looked around, saw Bull behind her, the Chargers behind him. With a gesture, she drew him close. "That store room you used with Maerith. Were there rugs there? Tapestries?"

"Some," he nodded.

"Take your men and get them. Then raid every wall hanging and banner you can, strip the place bare if you must. Clear the dining hall of tables and layer the floor. If you need help, take some soldiers. They're up, they might as well be useful."

"We're on it, Inquisitor. Chargers!"

They vanished into the keep.

"You sent for me, Your Worship?"

Her eyes alit on Morris. "We're going to have people camping in the dining hall tonight. Bull's seeing to most of the preparations, but I'll need you to find me actual beds and rooms for those who can't camp in the courtyard but aren't badly wounded enough for the healers."

He looked nervous. "I'll do what I can, of course, but we're running out of places to put people."

She shook her head impatiently. "Abandoned towers, rooms that aren't adequately repaired can still be made warm enough shelter for a few nights. Even the covered porches of the garden might do. Speak with Gatsi about how fast new buildings can go up against the walls. Don't tell me what can't be done, do what's required. Has anyone seen Josephine?"

"I'm here! I'm here."

She pulled Josephine slightly aside from the worst of the bustle and lowered her voice. "We're out of room," she said. "Some of the nobles will have to share quarters. Some might even be better off in their own homes."

Josephine's lips tightened, but she nodded. "I'll see to it," she said, then hurried away.

"Inquisitor!"

Evelyn turned toward the call. The night, it seemed, intended to be a long one.

 

It was still technically night when she realized all the preparations that could be made had been. On her way to her room, Evelyn stopped by the dining hall. The tables, she noted, had been converted into bunk beds, giving extra room in the hall. It was warm, and the floors were a motley of colors and shapes, rugs overlapping tapestries overlaid by banners. It could have smelled musty, and there was a hint of that, but someone had been wise enough to roll herbs into the fabric before storing it all. 

Bull pulled her back against him, wrapping an arm around her. His arms folded into the soft quilted fabric of her tunic, the one she had long since swapped out her armor for, once it was plain there was no attack in the offing. 

"This is what it smells like on the first frosty night at home, when the servants would bring out the warm bedding for winter," she murmured. "All the blankets are clean and soft, and they smell like forgotten summer."

"Smells like hay."

She smiled. "Such a romantic."

His lips brushed over her hair. "Varric found a new audience."

The dwarf sat on a chair, surrounded by sleepy children and their parents, gesticulating to illustrate a point, tapping the center of his left hand.

"He's telling them stories about me," she said. "They're… colorful interpretations of what happened."

"Evelyn."

She looked back and up at him.

"Eight days ago, Varric asked me a question about you. In the hall, just before he left us."

Evelyn thought. It took a moment for her tired mind to come up with it. "Oh. The Orlais thing."

"And when he left, you asked if I was serious."

"And you said—" She stopped, then turned in his arms to stare up at him. "You said 'Ask me again in eight days.' Eight days ago."

He looked down at her.

Her eyes widened. "You can't be se—"

"Go get Varric," he said quietly. "Take him back to the room. Make him the offer."

She started to snap at him, then looked around. "No!" she hissed.

His eye narrowed. He pivoted and spun her so his bulk hid her from the room, pinning her with one hand against the wall. "I'll remind you once that 'no' is not a watchword, Evelyn, and I don't think you ever want to say it to me again in that tone. Do you understand?"

He waited while she got her temper under control. "Yes," she finally said, glaring at him.

"Yes what?"

Something shifted in her. Evelyn felt it, didn't know how to understand it or even grasp the change. It wasn't that she wasn't irritated. It wasn't the sudden upswell of lust he could cause in her. That, she was accustomed to. This was different, a comingling of guilt and embarrassment, an odd release of tension and a hint of fear. The pressures of the day popped like so many soap bubbles. They belonged to another person, another time. She dropped her eyes, looked away from him. "Yes, ser," she said.

"Go get Varric," he repeated. "Take him back to the room. Make the offer." He lifted a hand to her neck. "If he says no, fine. But you will do this. Unless there's another word you want to say."

He stroked her jaw with a fingertip when she didn't say anything. "Go on, now, girl. Obey me."

Evelyn looked over at Varric and took a deep breath before stepping away from Bull. She glanced back once, but he was already exiting the dining hall. 

Heads turned as she passed, whispers ran ahead of her and rose behind her like dust plumes. She composed her expression into something less terrified, more confident. Hands reached for her as she passed and she brushed her fingertips against theirs.

Varric looked up and smiled. "Ah, the Herald of Andraste herself."

More heads turned, eyes filled with hope and fear punched holes in her heart, and she smiled at them. "I came to see that everyone was settled for the night," she said. 

"Snug as bugs in a rug. You'll pardon the expression."

She chuckled. "I suppose I will." Glancing at those around Varric's chair, she chose a woman at random. "Warm enough?" she asked. "Did they feed you?"

The woman nodded, jaw slightly dropped.

"Good. If you want for anything, there will be people outside. Ask, and it will be gotten for you."

She nodded again.

Evelyn felt a tug on the hem of her shirt and turned. A little boy, no more than six or seven, stared up at her. She cocked her head at him.

"Can I see it?"

An older woman, presumably the lad's grandmother, scrambled to his side. "Kellam, no! Don't bother the Inquisitor."

"He's not a bother," she assured the woman, then crouched to the boy. "See what, Kellam?"

"The mark. The one that kills the demons."

Suddenly, even those who had been pretending not to stare were looking at her. All conversation stopped.

Evelyn smiled and held out her hand. For a moment, nothing happened.

But the mark was always there. The pain it had caused when it first appeared had abated, even most of the strangeness had dulled to familiarity. And if it only flared around a rift, that didn't mean that was the only time it could.

All she had to do was notice it.

Light flared in her palm, accompanied by a sound Evelyn was never quite sure if she was the only one who heard. No one else ever mentioned it, a thrum, a rip, a vibration that made her skin shiver. Evelyn flexed her fingers over the mark, sending shadows across the glare of green.

After a moment, she held her hand out to the boy, verdant light spilling over his face.

Hesitantly, carefully, he lifted a single finger to touch her palm.

Murmurs and gasps echoed in the stone room.

He turned to look at his grandmother. Tears rolled down her face, disappearing into the creases of her smile. "Thank you," the woman whispered. "Thank you, Herald."

Evelyn clenched her fist, and the light extinguished. "Sleep," she said, rising from her crouch. "Rest and heal. Twinbrook lives while you do."

When she left the room, Varric was at her side.

"For someone who doesn't want to be the Herald of Andraste," he said after the doors closed, "you sure know how to play the part. I couldn't have written it any better."

"I did it for the same reason you told them stories," she said. "They need it. And what's with telling them the mark kills demons?"

"Poetic license. It's better than telling them how you hide until it's time to close a rift then you just wave your hand at it."

"I do not hide!"

"Right. My mistake. Well..."

"Varric."

"Yeah?"

She chewed her lips and looked around, then gestured him away from the guards. "Would you mind coming up to my room for a bit? There's… I need to…"

Curiosity replaced tiredness. "Sure," he said. "Always wanted to see what was up there. Cullen still won't talk about it."

Once in the room, she sat on the couch and tugged off her boots, letting him look around. 

"This place is huge," Varric said. "And you have it all to yourself?"

"No," she said, tossing her boots toward the armor rack. "I share it these days."

"Speaking of him, where is he? I was half-afraid I'd walk up here and see way too much of him, if y'know what I mean."

"I do know what you mean, and I'm not certain where he is, exactly. If it helps, I'm usually the naked one."

He looked over at her and blinked. "Uh, I'm not sure why you thought that might help."

"Look, I need to talk with you about something."

"Sure, Princess," he said, wandering over. "But if it has anything to do with that rope get-up over your bed, maybe we could skip it."

She didn't answer right away, trying to form the question.

"Whoa, seriously? It's about the rope?"

"No! No. Well…"

"What?!"

Evelyn resorted to one of Bull's tactics and reached out to put her hand over his mouth. It surprised her a little that she had to reach up to do it. Varric stood about shoulder high on her. When she sat, he was actually a bit taller. 

She looked into his eyes, read the confusion and alarm there. For a moment, she wondered how Bull did it. How he just looked at her and read her mind, knew what to say to soothe or arouse. But it was probably too late for her to get any Ben-Hassrath training. 

"Eight days ago," she said, leaving her fingertips against his lips, "you asked if my having been to Orlais meant what you thought it did."

No one had ever accused Varric of being slow on the uptake. He certainly understood faster than she had. His eyes widened.

"Do you still want to know?" she asked.

Expressions flickered over his face, behind his eyes, too fast for her to read. Uncertainly, Evelyn bit her lower lip, then slid her fingers off his mouth. 

He stared at her, silent.

Tentative, she leaned toward him. Her head tilted. Her lips touched his, feather-light. 

Still he didn't move or speak.

Evelyn shifted closer still, brushing her lips over his, a slow, coaxing caress. She felt his lips move on hers and tasted the silken inside of his upper lip with the tip of her tongue. His gloved hand rose to her neck, hesitated, then slid behind her head.

He kissed her. His hand pulled her against him, his tongue swept across hers. His breath was hot on her cheek, the stubble from his beard rasped against her skin. He made a sound low in his throat, and Evelyn slid off the couch and onto her knees on the floor in front of him.

Both his hands grabbed her head and he pulled back from her. "Stop. Shit. Evelyn." He rested his forehead against hers, caught his breath while she waited. "Just… tell me if this is your idea or his."

She was still trying to think of a way to answer that was both true and honest when he let her go. "Yeah," he said, stepping away, "that's what I thought."

"Varric, wait."

"No, thanks."

Evelyn grabbed his arm and turned him back to face her. "Tell me if I look in any way like a woman being forced to do something she doesn't want to do. Do I look like I don't want this? Did I kiss you like I didn't mean it?"

"Then tell me why, Evelyn. No bullshit. I want _you_ to tell me why."

"Because…" She sighed and shook her head. "Because you held my hand in a dungeon. Because you made a snow picnic for me. Because you named your crossbow after a woman just so you could talk to her and touch her every single day."

He had stopped pulling away, so she tugged on his arm, bringing him back to her. "Because you kiss like a man who knows how," she said, softer. "Because you touch me like I'm yours. And because the Herald of Andraste is on her knees offering to suck your cock, and I want to know if you're going to just walk away from that."

She pulled him closer still, her eyes locked on his, then turned him, putting the couch to his back. He sat, staring at her. Slowly, carefully, she moved until she was kneeling between his knees. She set her hands on his thighs and leaned in to kiss him again.

He didn't kiss her back. His lips under hers were unresponsive, but she felt the increase in his breathing. Her hands brushed higher, finding the cloth belt that he used to secure his shirt closed. Her lips traced the shape of his mouth, stroked the curve of his lower lip as her fingers slid the knot free. 

And he didn't react. 

She sat back, fingers easing his shirt open more. She didn't try to remove it, just curled her fingers in the crinkly, wiry hairs on his chest. The contrast pleased her; her teeth sank into her lower lip as she felt the hairs shift over his skin, the solid planes of hard muscle beneath. Her smile was slow, heated. 

But that was for later, she promised herself. For now, she picked one of his hands up and removed his glove, tugging on one finger at a time until the whole thing came off. Setting it aside, she repeated the procedures with his other hand.

When his hands were bare, she sat back, took the hem of her shirt in her hands, and pulled it off over her head.

His sharp inhale was a pleasure, and she shook her head to make her hair fall properly around her shoulders, out of her eyes. When she leaned in again, it was to kiss his knee, then his thigh, through the leather of his breeches. His red shirt hung low, but she nuzzled it aside and scraped her teeth over his thigh.

She felt one of his hands touch her back, shaking ever so slightly. It rested there, slowly relaxing onto her skin.

She kissed higher on his leg, her hands sliding onto the cushion between them, gently nudging his legs apart. The leather smelled good, clean and warm, and beneath it she caught hints of soap and skin. When her lips found the bulge at his crotch, the hand on her back curled into a fist, was joined by his other hand. 

Hesitantly, carefully, his hands moved up into her hair, toying gingerly with the silky strands. Evelyn traced the outline of his cock with her mouth, cupping around it with easy pressure. She felt the ridge at the head, cushioned by the material between her and it, stroked it with her mouth, then abandoned it.

His hands tightened in her hair and she smiled against the skin of his stomach. Her tongue tasted his skin, teased through the curls. She kissed, licked, nibbled her way up his chest. She liked the hair, she decided, liked the feel of it, liked the raw difference between it and skin. 

Evelyn rose higher onto her knees to bite his jaw, nibble at his earlobe. "Unfasten them for me," she breathed in his ear. "I want you to do it, Varric." Her fingertips slid under the waistband of his breeches, just in case he had any question what she meant. With her lips against his ear, the tips of her breasts brushed his chest, and she shivered. The hair tickled, and she decided she liked that too.

He moved his hands from her back to his pants.

"That's it," she whispered, feeling him shudder under her. "All you have to do is open them. I'll do everything else. Everything."

She felt him lift his hips, heard the leather slide down. Finding no reason to tease anymore, and having no desire to do so, she dropped back down. One hand found the shaft of his cock, and she took him into her mouth.

His hands clenched on her head even as his hips came off the couch, and a low groan ripped from his chest.

Varric's cock was proportionate, she discovered, but thick. She could and did take all of him into her mouth, base to tip, then pulled back to tease the tip of his cock with her tongue. She sucked on it briefly, just the head between her lips, then sank down onto him. Slowly, she pulled back up, then a quick downward thrust, repeating the motion, the rhythm. At the end of the downstroke, the deepest penetration, the tip of his cock just brushed the back of her throat.

Slow and fast, up and down, his hands tightened on her head urging another pace, but she had other ideas and all the power to indulge them. She angled her head, sucking only on the underside of his cock and lower, sliding her tongue to lick his balls, curl around them. He had hair there, too, a thicker mat than she was expecting, but the tickling delighted her tongue.

He moved, sliding down farther, giving her the access she wanted. One of her hands stayed on his cock, riding it while she took one of his testicles in her mouth, gentle and soft, holding it between her lips. Her tongue stroked it, a slow, long lap that brought her name from his lips.

She smiled.

Her left hand slid under her chin, taking up where her mouth left off, cupping his sac as her lips retraced their path. Only the head went into her mouth this time, in and out, over and over, slight draws of her mouth to pull him in, the pressure and swirl of her tongue to push him out again. Her mouth moved in quick, small pulses but her hand slid slow and strong, her other hand still on his balls.

"Evelyn," he said hoarsely. "Stop."

She ignored him, taking a bit more of him in her mouth with every downward bob of her head. Her fingers between his legs rolled his testicles between them, tangling and tugging the curls. Her free hand dragged down his thigh and down to the cushion, sliding between his ass and her couch.

"Stop. Wait."

His entire cock was in her mouth and she swallowed, pulling him just that much deeper, burying her nose in his groin. Her tongue swept over his shaft as she withdrew, then took him deep again. She held him in her mouth, hot and wet, slicking her tongue over him.

"Shit. Evelyn!"

She wrapped her hand around the base of his cock and moved her head in steady, sure motions. Quick. Hard. Her tongue danced briefly over the head of his penis, dipped into the slit at the top.

Abruptly his hands fisted in hair, pulling painful and sharp and all his protests dissolved into a single, harsh cry. Her mouth filled with cum and she drew him deep, getting as much of it as possible in the back of her throat, making it easier to swallow. His hips worked, pumping against her, his hands shoving her head down onto him. Evelyn gave up trying to control it, just rode it, rode him, let him spend himself in her mouth.

Her mouth moved more gently on him as he softened. His cock twitched once against her tongue. She licked him clean, one last brush of her tongue over him, then sat back. His hands dragged free from her hair and flopped to the couch on either side of him.

Evelyn worked the waistband of his pants higher, smiling as he groaned a little and tried to lift his hips to help her. Once they were properly around his waist again, she tugged his shirt closed and petted his chest, pleasing herself again with the feel of his chest hair.

"I have got to go to Orlais more," he said finally.

She chuckled and raised higher on her knees to kiss his chin. One of his hands drifted to her face, cupped her cheek. She closed her eyes and nuzzled into his hand.

"Are you still angry?" she asked him softly.

"No fair asking me after that."

"I'm asking anyway."

"Nah," he said, smoothing her hair back away from her face. "I'm not sure what exactly brought it on, but if you're sure it wasn't forced."

"It wasn't."

"Coerced?"

"Varric, it wasn't."

He sighed. "All right, Princess. I'm not angry."

"Thank you," she said, resting her chin on his knee and looking up at him.

He looked down at her, his hand pausing in her hair. 

She tipped her head to one side. "What?"

"Just thinking. That lucky bastard."

Evelyn grinned.

"And now I have to try and walk down all those stairs without killing myself." With a sigh he pushed himself upright, arranged himself and his trousers. Evelyn helped him re-tie his belt, smoothing his shirt down.

"Sweet dreams, Varric," she said.

He kissed her forehead. "Sweeter now. Good night, Princess."

She stayed kneeling in front of the couch until she heard first one, then the other door close.

"Okay," said Bull from the railing of the balcony over her bed. "That was hotter than I thought it was going to be."

Evelyn looked sideways and up, somehow unsurprised. "For me too, now that you mention it."

He chuckled and vanished, though she could hear him walking, then descending the ladder.

Wincing, she pried herself off the stone floor. "We have got to get more pillows in here," she said, sliding onto the couch and rubbing her knees.

"Poor Princess," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed facing her. "Well?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Well what?"

"Well, doesn't it bother you?"

"Doesn't what bother me?"

"Evelyn, you just sucked off another man in front of me."

She blinked. "Oh." Then she frowned. "No, it doesn't bother me at all. It was Varric."

"And that makes it all right?"

"Well, no, you telling me to do it made it all right. But I do feel like I should probably rinse my mouth out or something before we kiss."

"Seconded. But listen a minute. Did it affect our relationship?"

"What? No!" She stood and walked into his arms, draping her arms around his neck. "Should it have?"

"You tell me."

"No, it wa—" She stopped, stared.

"Mm hmm." His smile grew into a full laugh.

She had to laugh too. "Fine," she said. "It was just sex. Sex with a friend because I'm not an asshole."

His hands stroked her bare back. "Go on."

"What we have," she said, softer, "is stronger. Something different. Something more."

His smile faded. He held her, looked at her.

Across the room, a log shifted in the fire, hissing sparks and ash into the grate.

"Good girl," he said huskily.

Evelyn leaned down.

He stopped her with a finger on her lips. "Evelyn."

"Yes, ser?"

"Go wash your mouth out."


	14. Day Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (What can I say? Four-day weekends do great things for my writing output. Still, I'm going to miss these guys... And Day Fourteen's almost written.
> 
> Oh, also, don't do this at home. Unless you have healing potions.)

She slid behind the demon, hiding in its shadow. It towered over her, tall enough to block the sun. Its armor-plated head swung back and forth as it searched for her.

It laughed, a rumble that was obscured only by the thunder of its foot stomping where she had stood only seconds before. Clawed hands groped for her, closing on air. She swept the blade of one dagger through its spine, but the blow did nothing. 

Nothing.

But it noticed. Evelyn ran back to where she had been as the demon turned, snuffling for her. Its horns brushed in front of her. She had to move. Something dragged at her hip. She looked down.

A little boy, no more than six or seven, stared up at her. She cocked her head down at him.

The demon crouched low. Its head began to turn. She could see the green glint of the breach echoing in its eye, the line of drool making its fangs glisten. 

She had to move.

A little boy, no more than six or seven, stared up at her.

The demon's jaws parted.

"Evelyn!"

She exploded out of the bed, taking less than a heartbeat to see something near her, something with horns. Her foot lashed out, she didn't care what she hit as long as she hit something. Her nudity wasn't a surprise, just a fact, a fact that didn't include weapons. She blurred into nothingness, easier in the darkness of the room with faint sunlight to see by. 

Even in pre-dawn dimness she knew where her weapons were and snatched them from the rack, whirling to face the bed.

It was gone.

It was a bed.

Her head snapped around, looking for…

For what?

"Evelyn." 

He stood by the windows, revealed by early dawn colors striking off the snow and ice. Silver skin. Silver light. Black shadows of his beard. Horns darkening from gray to black. Sharp angles of his face not at all softened in the uncertain light. Huge. He was huge. His hand was the size of her head. His shoulders were as wide as the window.

Atavistic fear crawled up her spine. Her hands tightened on her daggers.

"Evelyn," he said again, softer, gentler.

She could see the way he searched the room, but didn't move out of the light. He couldn't find her. He couldn't see her.

"Evelyn. Do you know what the best way to kill off a carnival is?"

Her brain skittered to a halt, left off chasing itself around in panicked circles. So incongruous. It made no sense. It didn't fit. A carnival?

"Go for the juggler."

It was a joke, she realized. He told a joke. Why would he tell a joke?

Her daggers tumbled out of her hands.

He caught her before they fell. 

Heat. Strength. Comfort. "Bull?"

"I'm here," he said. "It's all right. I've got you."

After a moment, she nodded. He pulled her close, gently, carefully. "Finally," he sighed.

"Finally?"

"You've had this building for months," he said. "Guess I came close to missing it."

She quivered, taut and tense. Green light danced around the room and she jerked, but he didn't let her go. "Rift!"

"There's no rift, Evelyn. It's your mark."

She brought her hand up between them, stared at the mark. It blazed. "There was a demon," she said blankly.

"No. A nightmare."

Evelyn looked around. No rift. No demon. Her bedroom. Skyhold. She nodded a little, and he let her go when she turned to look at the rest of the room. There were shadows. Shadows above. Shadows from the staircase. Shadows behind her desk.

"Soldiers get them sometimes. Sometimes bad enough that— Well, you don't need to know about that. But you're not the first. Won't be the last."

When she didn't speak, he prompted her. "In the nightmare, there was a demon? A rift?"

"No rift," she said absently. "A demon. And… And a boy."

_A young boy, no more than six or seven._

She twitched, had to move, to know he wasn't tugging on her shirt. Pulling her down. She stepped to her armor stand, found the cotton shirt that went under the armor and pulled it on.

"Evelyn, I think you should stay."

"I can't," she said. "Please don't tell me to, please Bull. I have to…" She yanked the armor on next, leaving the leather buckles undone for the moment. "I have to move. I can't stay."

"Why are you putting your armor on?"

"So I can…" But she didn't have a why. She stepped into the lightly armored pants, scales chiming softly in the dark. "I have to go. I need to move." Bending, she scooped up her weapons.

She vanished.

She heard him cursing behind her, but the doors opened and closed before he could command her to stay.

Evelyn ghosted through the hall. She hadn't taken the weapon harness, only the daggers, but they made her feel better. She didn't notice herself flipping one over and over, quick snaps of her hand twisting to catch the hilt. The hall wasn't quiet, precisely, not with dawn in the air, but it was all long shadows and low conversations. The ceiling was bare; the banners had been sacrificed for the refugees.

Her ears pricked at the sound of combat. Soundless, invisible, she moved into the courtyard.

Guards. Her guards. Her men. Inquisition armor. They fought in the courtyard, early morning practice. 

Evelyn sprang from the staircase to the ground, landing soft as a cat, then prowled toward the fight. When she couldn't hold on to her shadows any longer, she was in the center of them.

Shouts of alarm echoed around her. The sergeant-at-arms bellowed, "Down! Down arms, Fade take your eyes!"

Around her, soldiers slowly lowered their weapons, their shields. 

"Inquisitor?" the sergeant said. 

She looked at him. Something she didn't like and didn't recognize flickered in his eyes. He didn't take his eyes off her, but turned slightly. "Someone go get the Commander. Move."

One of the soldiers broke away from the ring and pelted for the stairs.

"Inquisitor, is everything all right?"

She nodded.

No one moved. No one spoke.

Evelyn's breath came out in silvered plumes. They were staring at her. Circling her. Slowly, her daggers rose.

"Evelyn."

Her head snapped around. Cullen in soft pants and a wrinkled shirt, barefoot like she was, hair rumpled from sleep, frowning at her. The sergeant backed away from her and whispered something to him. Cullen nodded slowly. "Arms," he said.

"Sir…"

"Arms."

With a long look at Evelyn, the sergeant handed Cullen his sword, his shield.

Cullen walked into the circle, keeping his eyes on her. She turned to keep him in view.

When he knew he had her attention, he hit the shield with the hilt of the sword.

Hope blazed inside her. With a cry of release, she attacked.

He caught one blow on his shield, nudged it aside with a careful economy of motion, bringing his sword up and under the other knife as it flashed toward his throat. His return blow was quick and sharp, but Evelyn had already spun behind him, whirling past and slashing at his back.

A pivot at the waist brought his shield around in time to catch it, simple movement of one foot made his body follow, keeping her in front of him. Before she could attack, his sword slashed at her head, making her dance back. He had reach on her as it was, the sword just magnified his advantage. She had to be faster.

Both knives sliced in patterns, flicking between aggressive lashes at his right side and defensive blocks that slid his sword out of her way. She went low to duck his blade, saw an opening and lunged. Her dagger drew a line up and across his side, but his shield came across her face and knocked her away.

Reflex sent her rolling, back to her feet in a low crouch that let her stay under his attack. He hadn't waited for her to recover, had come for her, the edge of his shield whistling over her head. She came up inside his guard, knocked his shield arm aside with a forearm blow to his elbow and stopped.

The tip of her left dagger dimpled the skin of his throat.

His head was tilted back, teeth gritted, nostrils flaring as he gulped in air. His eyes flickered down, and she felt pressure on her side.

She glanced down. The point of his sword was against her waist, against the leather where there were no scales. His arm was back, poised to shove it forward.

Evelyn looked back up at him, at the droplet of blood welling under her dagger point.

"Drop them, Evelyn," he said.

Her eyes narrowed.

"Drop them or kill me."

Kill him? Her blade withdrew by a hair's breadth. Uncertainty made her hesitate.

He didn't. He scooped both arms inside hers, shield striking one of her wrists, sword hilt hitting the other. Her daggers went flying.

Before she could react, a hand fisted against her scalp, deep in her hair, dragging her onto her toes. "I've got it, Cullen."

He eyed her a moment longer, then looked above her. "You sure?"

"Yeah. Get your side seen to. Sometimes she poisons those things."

Cullen nodded.

Bull spun her against him, clamping one arm around her shoulders, keeping the other hand in her hair. He strode back across the courtyard, back up the stairs, ignoring her whimpers of pain, her fitful struggles to escape. He stopped just inside the door to their room to set the lock, then dragged her up the stairs.

Nor did he try and talk with her or release her in the room. He flung her onto the bed, one knee landing on her buttocks.

"What's your word, Evelyn?" he asked calmly, using both hands to yank her armored shirt off her.

She didn't answer, couldn't think, she had to move. With a snarl, she tried to get out from under him. Futile. Her snarl faded into a whimper. 

He cuffed the back of her head.

"Evelyn. Pay attention. What's your word?"

"Vanish!" she snapped.

"Good."

Leather, cold and stiff circled her throat. He yanked, tightening it, then let it relax until he could fit his fingers under it. The buckle rattled, and he pulled her upright by the collar, dragged her to the end of the bed.

Between the posts were leather cuffs dangling from chains. She stared at them. He grabbed one of her wrists and held it up, stuffing it through the cuff and buckling it tight. 

Only then did he sigh and release her. "Damn. I didn't think you'd bolt. I'm sorry, Evelyn. This is my fault. I should've been ready for it."

He took her other wrist, gentler now, but firm as he buckled it in the other cuff. "Panic attacks, they call 'em, I think. Like that does them justice. Night terrors, I've heard that too. That at least makes more sense. Your brain's still there, that's all. Stuck in the dream. Partly, anyway. You're not thinking, just running on fear and adrenalin. 

"Humans, you people have your own ways of dealing with it, I guess, but they all take a long time and a lot of talking. Don't think I didn't think about fucking you out of it, but that's not what it's going to be like between us. I won't let it. So we've got this way. The Qunari way."

His hand stroked her bare back. "You're so fucking soft," he murmured. "What's your word, Evelyn?"

"Vanish," she said again, giving her wrists a yank.

"Good girl."

He stepped away from her.

She didn't even hear it before it hit, just felt the slicing pain of it, the blaze of agony ripping a scream from her. Before she could even absorb that she had been whipped, a second blow landed. She felt it slice through her skin from shoulder to hip and threw herself to one side to get away from it.

Hopeless. The third blow licked her back, striping across the first two, individual loci of torment crawling deeper through her body.

Pain. Pain was all she could feel as the whip tore across her, into her, through her. Not the cuffs, not the stone under her feet, or her own hair in her face, or the tears she sobbed.

Or the bone-deep certainty that a demon lurked right next to her, searching, seeking, reaching.

Just pain. Pain that turned her entire world into a wash of scarlet screams.

She scraped in a breath past the ruin of her throat. "VANISH!"

For a moment that lasted forever, she dangled by her wrists and sobbed. 

Something cold and wet touched her lips. Liquid poured into her mouth, and she had to swallow or choke. She tried, tried so hard, but choked anyway, coughing and sputtering. It didn't matter. It was enough. Gentle sunlight burst inside her, effervescent and warm.

The pain ended.

The clarity did not.

He held her up, unfastened the cuffs one by one with her cradled against him. Gently, so carefully, he laid her on the mattress. "I'm sorry," he whispered, kissing her forehead. "I'm so sorry. Shh. You're all right now. You're all right."

She hung on to him, dazed, still finding her way back to herself. "Bull?"

"I'm here. I have you."

"What…"

"Don't talk yet."

So she didn't. After a moment, he stopped stroking her, helped her get out of her pants. He tossed them away, but not before she saw the red blood still on them. Carefully, gingerly, she moved to the edge of the bed.

"Evelyn…"

She slid off the mattress. Somewhere, part of her body insisted it must still hurt. There should still be wounds. But that was familiar; it happened sometimes when she'd been badly injured. Sometimes phantom pain lingered for a day or more, before her mind finally accepted that she was whole.

She walked to the foot of the bed.

Blood spotted the floor, still bright red and fresh. She looked down, behind her, saw partial footprints. On the sheets, rumpled from her earlier escape, more blood. She had been standing in it.

Bull stroked her back. She twitched, but felt no pain. "Soft skin," he said, as if in explanation.

"We'll have to clean this up," she said.

"We will."

Her hands reached up to the cuffs, touched one with a fingertip. The chain chimed. "You did this while I ran. While I was fighting."

He didn't say anything.

She shook her head slowly. "I don't understand," she whispered. She turned to him. "Why do you do all this for me? It shouldn't be like this."

That made him frown. "What shouldn't?"

"This. Us. You watch me. Think about me. Plan for me."

"Kas-berasala," he said.

"I don't know what that means."

"Literally, it means sword and shield of the soul. It also means a soul that is a sword and shield. It means I took it from you, I claimed it. And now I have to safeguard your heart as if it were my own."

"You said that before."

"Something like it," he agreed. "But you need to hear it again. And if you need to hear it again later, I'll say it again."

She managed a thin smile. "Still seems lopsided. What do you get out of it? You're the one in charge, my life is yours. I should probably be doing all of this for you."

He didn't answer. He was staring at her.

She cocked her head. "What?"

He blinked. "Uh. Nothing. And don't worry, you will be. Two weeks of hard labor for me, a lifetime of telling you to get on your knees and open your mouth. It'll be worth it."

"Think it's going to be that easy, do you?"

He sighed. "Woman, nothing about you is easy."

She dropped her head. "I'm sorry."

His arms pulled her close, and he kissed the top of her head. "Don't be," he said. "If I wanted easy, I'd have gotten a draft horse."

Evelyn laughed against his skin and draped her arms around his waist.

Safe.

 

But the day didn't stop, not even if Evelyn needed it to. The Inquisitor still had work to do. Arguably more work, since seeing her strong and confident was a must. Rumors had flowed through the Keep like water from a dam, and the only thing she could do to combat them was be present.

So she was. She spent the day moving from group to group, solving petty concerns that could've been left to almost anyone else, helping return tapestries and banners to their rightful places as the dining hall slowly emptied, trading jests with courtiers and witticisms with traders.

But the two people she most wanted to see were absent from the hall. Varric never appeared at his usual table. And Cullen never came into the hall.

By mid-afternoon, she finally realized she'd have to track them down. Cullen, at least, she thought she could find and, after taking a quick lunch, she went to his office.

He looked up as she entered. "Inquisitor," he greeted.

She waved that off, shutting the door behind her. "Friends, remember?"

"Of course," he said with that crooked grin. "Evelyn."

"I was wondering if you had my daggers," she said. 

"Ah. Yes, I… I picked them up for you. I meant to return them, but—" 

She shook her head. "It's all right."

He handed her a leather bundle, and she felt the shift of the weapons inside.

"About last night."

"You don't have to explain," he said.

"I feel as though I do."

"Evelyn. You don't." He sighed and leaned on his desk. "Years ago, in the Ferelden Circle tower… Something happened to me. It wasn't… It took time," he said finally. "I wasn't entirely… well."

"You mentioned something of this once," she ventured.

"Yes, but what I didn't mention were the nightmares. I'd come out of them screaming. I was… dangerous. To myself. To people around me. It was one of the reasons Greagoir sent me to Kirkwall."

He looked up at her. "So you see, I do understand."

She nodded. After a moment, she gestured at his side. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"What, this? Barely a flesh wound. I should thank you, really. The soldiers are all talking about how I bested the Inquisitor in only my night clothes."

"Bested me?" she asked indignantly. "I had you dead to rights!"

"Please, I could have had your head three times if I'd used my sword instead of my shield."

"And if I had used even half the assassin skills I know, you'd have been at my feet in a snap." To demonstrate, she snapped her fingers at him.

"You think so, do you?" He was grinning openly at her now.

"There will be a rematch, Commander," she promised him, sparkling eyes narrowed. "And when there is, you had best come better armored."

"I'll be sure to wear shoes."

Evelyn stuck her tongue out at him and left him laughing behind her.

 

But no matter where she looked, no matter who she asked, she couldn't find Varric. After dinner, she sat on her couch, holding the gloves he had left behind.

She looked over when Bull came into the room. "Anything?"

"No."

"I think he left Skyhold," she said, miserable.

"If he did, none of the gate guards saw him go. Let it be, Evelyn. He wants to be alone, that's got to be obvious by now."

She slapped the gloves together. "I suppose. It's not like I'm looking for him for his sake anyway, just my own." She sighed.

"My bet is he's either off somewhere drinking and moping, or he's in his room reliving the whole thing and jer—"

"Bull!"

He cocked his head and frowned at her. "Really? You can drink his c—"

"BULL!"

He shook his head. "You have really got a weird set of morals," he said, walking away. "Your armor's clean, by the way."

"What did they say about the blood?"

"Nothing. You're the Inquisitor. They've seen your blood in your armor before."

"Yes, but not often just in the waistband and back."

"They didn't care, Evelyn. The gossip's pretty interesting, though. Evidently, I'm a rough lover." He flashed a grin at her, and got a reluctant smile in return.

"I wouldn't know," she informed him, rising and leaving the gloves on the couch.

"Here," he said, handing her a flask. "Drink."

She sniffed. "What is it?"

"Well, I considered getting you dead drunk, but it wouldn't be worth all the puking. Something one of the herbalists gave me. It'll help you sleep."

Evelyn looked up at him with a wry smile. "I wasn't really looking forward to sleeping, I admit."

"Yeah, thought so. Drink up. You're not the only one who had a long night. I need some shut-eye."

"At least you only have the one," she muttered.

"What?"

Quickly, she downed the flask. To the credit of the Inquisition's herbalists, it took effect fast. She wobbled on her feet.

He was there.

He caught her.


	15. Day Fourteen

There were still refugees living in the dining hall, though fewer now. Resupplied and healed, some had been given escort to villages of relatives. Some had been relocated into housing in the various nooks and crannies of the keep. More than one had opted to join the army and were being worked into the barracks. 

But it still meant that regular meals were being eaten wherever anyone could find a seat, and the (relative) old-timers of Skyhold knew the back ways and entrances to hidden balconies. Like the one Varric had found overlooking the main hall, where Evelyn finally caught up with him.

He glanced over as she sat next to him, threading her legs through the supports for the bannister, but he didn't speak.

After a moment, she said, "I paid some of the children to let me know when they saw you," she said.

"Yeah. I paid them to tell me before they went to tell you," he replied.

She huffed a laugh.

He didn't.

Evelyn chewed on her lips and tried not to stare at him. "If I had known it would cost me your friendship," she said quietly, "I wouldn't have done it."

"Look, if this is going to be a heartfelt discussion where we analyze our relationship now, I'd rather skip over that part and not have it."

"Well we're having it," she said. "There's a good chance I'll be leaving soon for Emprise du Lion, and I'm not leaving this at my back. Besides, technically as I recall, you're still a prisoner of the Inquisition, and I'm the Inquisitor."

"I've already done the Naughty Prisoner Under Questioning scene," he said. "Wasn't fun." He stood.

Evelyn tipped her head back and looked up at him. She saw the uncertainty in him, the disquiet, and remnants of something she liked even less but couldn't quite name. What he saw in her expression, she couldn't be sure. But he did stop. He stayed.

Finally, he reached out and stroked her cheek. "I'm not mad," he said, quieter. "But I do know when I've been used. Just… maybe give me a couple days."

She didn't want to let him go, didn't want think she'd lost him, but she had no right to keep him and so she nodded. Still, her heart ached to bring him back, to say anything to keep him there, to make him smile. 

"So a repeat performance is out of the question."

That got a chuckle out of him. He shook his head with a wry grin, then bent to kiss her, just once. "That, I didn't say." 

Then he left her, his breakfast abandoned on the floor.

Evelyn sighed.

Abruptly she remembered the other reason she had sought him out. "Varric, wait, you forgot your—" She reached to her waist, found nothing tucked into her belt.

She looked up and saw Varric walking down the stairs, pulling on his gloves.

Bull walked up as Varric walked down. They didn't speak to each other. "If it's any consolation," Bull said to her as he approached, "he's not pissed at you. Me, on the other hand, I might catch a bolt in the back."

She stood, accepting his hand to let him pull her to her feet. "I wish I knew what he was feeling. What to say."

"Nothing to be said," Bull said, "and even he's not sure how he feels about it yet."

"I suppose you know exactly what's going on in his head," she said, picking up Varric's bowl and walking slowly back toward the kitchens.

"He's mostly having a crisis of faith."

"A what?"

"He doesn't want to admit it, but he was starting to believe that whole Herald of Andraste thing. Now he's had his head snapped around, he sees you as a woman. It's confusing. Not easy to let go of an idol."

Evelyn stopped on the stairs and stared at Bull. He turned to look back at her when he realized she wasn't following, his expression bland and innocent.

"Maker's ass," she swore. "Varric was right. You really are a manipulative son of a bitch."

"Well… yeah."

"This wasn't about me and you. Or even me. This was about him. And me. Me and him! And you!"

He took the bowl from her. "Don't throw it," he advised. "Scraps are going to feed the livestock." He continued down the stairs, leaving her to stalk along behind him.

"This wasn't just about being obedient to you, this was about me knocking myself off his pedestal. You want him to keep seeing me as just Evelyn."

"See?" he said, handing the bowl off to one of the serving boys scurrying around. "I told you we'd work on getting information from your heart to your head."

"Why don't you just tell me these things?" she demanded, stepping in front of him.

He looked down at her. "You want to have this out right here?" he asked. "We can do that."

She glanced around. It wasn't just Orlesian aristocracy and Ferelden nobles anymore in the hall. Though there had always been refugees at Skyhold, they tended to avoid the main hall. But now, with the villagers of Twinbrook crowding the keep, there were ordinary people to consider. And they didn't bother trying to hide their curiosity.

They looked for the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, and saw her standing in the hall yelling at a Qunari mercenary.

Evelyn strangled her temper. "Fine," she said. "Come with me."

She didn't lead him to their room. It had become a refuge, the place where she could be alone with him, where her decisions didn't matter, didn't affect the fate of the entire world. She couldn't take an argument there.

So she took him to the Undercroft. 

Dagna and Harritt were there, of course, arguing over some point of metallurgy. In any other circumstance, Evelyn would have joined in. Smithing wasn't a talent she had, but it was a skill that fascinated her, and a hobby she meant to one day indulge.

Just not today.

"I'll need the room," she said to them. "Get a guard, post him at the door. My orders. No one is to enter until I leave unless there's a dragon over the keep."

They looked at her, then at Bull, then at each other. "Yes, Inquisitor," Harritt said.

"You know they think we're going to have sex down here," Bull said as they left.

"Well they're wrong," she said, turning to him with her arms folded. "You and I don't have sex at all. Why didn't you just tell me about Varric?"

"Nothing's that simple, Evelyn."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it would have changed you," he said. "What you did, how you reacted, what you said. You'd have thought about wanting to make him stop seeing you as the Herald, and he would have backed off."

"You don't know that!"

"Yeah, I do," he said. "He almost did anyway. It might not have mattered; the offer was enough to get his thoughts going in the right direction, but it's better this way."

"Why?"

"You know why."

Her eyes narrowed.

Bull shook his head. "You're going to have to learn to think, not just react. Your instincts are sharp, but you never think about what you do."

"I do think!"

"Prove it," he said. "Tell me why it's better this way. Why is it better that you actually went down on him, that he didn't walk?"

"Because…" She sighed in frustration and walked toward the waterfall, running a hand through her hair. She stared at the water. "He would have… gone away and thought about it," she said.

"So what if he thought about it? Gut reaction, what's his next step?"

"Denial," she said. "He wouldn't have believed I actually wanted to do it."

"Good. And?"

After a minute, she turned back to him. "He might have thought I was some… holy figure and you were tainting me. Dragging me down."

Bull nodded. "He still does, a little. That's why he's so pissed at me. And if I had told you…"

"If you had told me… I might have… I'd have rubbed his nose in it and he'd have had to make a decision about me right then. He would have walked away and been angry at us both."

"Better."

Her irritation returned and she frowned at him anew. "You could have just told me all this, too, of course."

"Yeah, I'm sure you'd have done a great job talking him into letting you suck his cock with all that whirling around in your head." He snorted. "You're too new at this. This is why I'm here. Trust me. I won't let you screw up."

"You thought of all that?"

"That? That's nothing. That and more."

"Maker's ass, do I want to know how much more?"

"Do you?"

Did she? She tried to think of a single answer about their relationship he'd given her that hadn't made her angry or upset. 

But maybe this was the time. And the place.

"Yes," she said finally, her chin rising defensively. 

"All right. You know this was also about you, about proving to you how deep your obedience to me goes. It has to be pushed," he said, "like learning how to fight or drink. Now that you've done this, you'll do anything less I tell you to."

She blinked. Honesty, she had expected, but not this blunt.

"But even if it was just obedience, it had to be him. You couldn't have done it with Blackwall. He'd have let you. He's already seen you as a beautiful woman. Did the first time he met you; it was in his eyes. But he'd have been ashamed of it, and his shame would have reflected on you. You'd have been ashamed, too, and that wasn't the lesson.

"Solas would never have gone for it. He has a thing about humans, kind of a bigot. He likes you, but it's all fatherly. I'm surprised it doesn't piss you off. Still haven't figured out what it is you see in him, but you drift around him like a moth around a candle flame. That's a question I'm still working on.

"Then there's Cullen." He shook his head. "That's not going to happen, not for a while. Like I said before, you have a thing for him and he's got one for you. I considered, way back in the beginning, pushing you two together but he's got his head up the Inquisition's ass and that's not what you need.

"And he'd never let you just go down on him. He's all-or-nothing, that one. Got a little bit of dominance in him too, just enough to get your fires going. But he'd take a knee to the Inquisitor, and that would be a disaster."

Evelyn sagged back against the armor table, hearing an unfinished breastplate rattle behind her.

"Didn't have to be one of the men," he continued, pushing off and stalking toward her. "You're basically straight, but you'd have gone for the right woman. Problem is, none of the ones here are right. Sera's not your type. Leliana would go for it, but she's way too good at these games and I don't need another manipulator in your head, fucking around with you."

"Stop," she whispered, feeling sick.

"You sure? I haven't told you why Dorian would've been a bad choice, though he would have been game if we'd approached him right."

"Please stop," she said again, looking away from him. 

He stood in front of her, arms folded over his massive chest, watching her.

Slowly, she shook her head. "Is that how you see us?" she asked. "Is that all you see? Is it all just… just plots and machinations?"

"Not all," he said. "But this is my job, Inquisitor. This is what you hired me for."

Anger spiked, brought her head up. "I did not hire you to figure out who I should and shouldn't fuck!"

"Yes, you did," he said, brutal in his honesty. "You hired me to be your bodyguard. You hired a Ben-Hassrath. Or did you think I was only here to kill people?"

Finally, too late, her brain caught up with her instincts. She had to turn away from him, had to stare at nothing, had to brace her hands on the table or she would have fallen. She tried to swallow down the nausea that rose, acid and sharp in the back of her throat.

"Why," she said. "This is what you couldn't tell me. Why you've done all of this. I'm the weapon, you said. The only thing standing between the world and Corypheus. Even Varric said he thinks I'm three days from a mental breakdown. This isn't…"

She couldn't catch her breath, couldn't speak.

He didn't try to touch her. She would have taken his hand off if he had.

"This had nothing to do with me."

"It did," he said. "But Varric's partly right; you were on your way to a mental breakdown. I couldn't let that happen."

One of her hands rose to her chest, and she closed her eyes. "It's all a lie," she whispered.

"No," he said firmly. "I have not lied. Not once."

"You said it wasn't about the Inquisition."

"I said I didn't want control of the Inquisition. I don't."

"I thought you wanted me."

"I did want you. I do want you."

She whirled on him. "You don't! You don't want Evelyn, you want an Inquisitor, whole and undamaged, to save the world. I could have been anybody with this mark, and you'd have done the same thing!"

"Evelyn…"

With a furious gesture, she vanished.

"Evelyn!" he roared, that voice of command he used on the battlefield, on the training ground. "Stand!"

Halfway to the stairs, she stopped and reappeared, turned to face him.

She blanched. It hadn't been voluntary, not in the least.

He had commanded.

She had obeyed.

His hands latched onto her shoulders before she could disappear again. "Look at me," he said, giving her a shake. "Listen to me. Cassandra had her faith in the Maker, Leliana believed in the Chantry. Cullen believed in them, and now he believes in you. You had no one. No one, Evelyn. No god to rely on, no commander to look to. 

"Little by little, they were killing you. Turning you into what they wanted you to be instead of who you were. You didn't know how to stop them, or even see what they were doing. You trusted them. Leliana. Cassandra with her crazed fanaticism; she'll go across the world like a scythe if she thinks it's the will of fucking Andraste. Or she'll make you do it for her."

"That doesn't—" 

"Eleven days ago, you bitched at me that the Inquisition was held together because people thought you were the Herald, so you had to act like one to command their respect. Then three days ago, you told Cassandra to kiss your ass, that you were going to be exactly who you were, and she would have to deal with it."

She stared at him, shook her head faintly. "You weren't… How did you know—?"

He put a finger over her lips and she fell silent

"First time I saw you," he said, softer, his grip easing, his gaze sliding down her body, "you were just a flash of knives and blood, moving through a battle like wind through trees, like you had been born in that fight, knew every step of it before it happened. Then it was over and I saw this— This _girl_. Skinny, pale, not a mark on you. You had the balls to size me up like you could judge me. I've got ten times your experience, but you did it anyway. Looked at me like you expected me to measure up."

He let go of her and backed away, letting out a sigh that came from months of holding it in. "Every time things got worse, that pampered little nobleman's daughter who never led anything bigger than a puppy kept stepping up. Doing what was needed. Doing your duty. They told you to fight demons, so you fought demons. Told you to save a town, convert the faithful, seal a breach. Told you to lead them while they kept killing you. And you did it. 

"You're so fucking Qunari, it breaks my heart.

"So when I decided to save you, I picked the one way that would let me get close to you. Feel you lean on me, turn to me. Hear you tell me the things you didn't even want to tell yourself.

"You're going to save the world, Evelyn. All I have to do is save your soul while you do it."

"Kas-berasala," she said softly.

He nodded. "Kas-berasala. I took your heart, claimed your soul so they couldn't. So that you could be who you are. I chained you so you could be free."

Evelyn took one step down, still standing one step above him but it put them closer. Close enough. She reached up to touch the side of his face. "Bull…"

He took her hand in his, turned it to kiss her palm. "No," he said. "I know you. Anything said or done now, you'll blow off later, just the heat of the moment. I don't need to seduce you anymore. I have you. But until you accept that, face it head-on, we'll go no further. Choose, Evelyn. One last choice."

Letting her hand drop, he left the Undercroft.

Evelyn sat heavily on the steps and stared at the waterfall.

Later, though there was no way to mark the time, the door opened. "I left orders," she said without looking. "No one comes in."

"With only one guard posted?" Varric said. "I didn't think you were serious."

She didn't turn. "Is he alive?"

"Sure. Might need some help getting his sleeve unpinned from the wall though. That one never gets old."

He sat.

The waterfall had its say.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

"Dagna," he said. "She said you kicked her out, then Bull came out looking like five kinds of blight, and you didn't leave. She was a little worried he'd thrown you off the cliff. Cute kid. Bad at people."

When she didn't answer, he tried again. "So I'm guessing from the look on your face, he told you everything."

Everything. She wasn't even sure it was everything. How could she know?

"Either that or you're pregnant."

She blinked and laughed. "I'm not pregnant!"

"That's a relief. I don't even want to think what those horns must feel like coming out."

"I'm fairly certain they're not born with full horns."

"Yeah, you're probably right. If only because the alternatives are really disturbing."

"What do I do, Varric?" she asked softly. "How do you get your heart back from someone who stole it while you looked right at them?"

"Princess, if I knew the answer to that one, my life would be very different right now."

"You knew," she remembered abruptly, a frown drawing her forehead into wrinkles. "You knew why. You knew that he was doing this, all this, just so I wouldn't break, so I could use this mark to—"

He hit her in the side of her head.

Shocked, Evelyn raised a hand to her head.

"All due respect here, Inquisitor, but get your head out of your ass. There's no 'just' here. That man's so in love with you, a blind nug could see it."

"Not love," she said, rubbing her head. "Strategy."

"He's Qunari. You want flowers and candied fruit, you should've stuck with Curly. And I'll point out that if that crazy son of a bitch thought you wanted candied fruit, he'd take his entire company out and burn down five villages to get it for you."

He stood. "You love him. He loves you. Go be disgustingly happy together."

He left.

After a minute, so did she.

She went back to their room, not certain if he'd be there, not certain if he'd wait. She should've known he would.

He sat on the chest at the foot of the bed, working oil into the straps of his armor, keeping it soft and supple, ready for when he needed it. He glanced at her when she came in, but didn't stop working.

Not until she walked over to him and took the harness from him, took the cloth from his hands, and set both aside.

He waited for her to gather her thoughts.

"Two weeks, you said. In two weeks, you could tame me, train me, and make me love you for it," she said, looking down at his forearms resting on his knees, hands dangling. "Two weeks later, I think I am in love with you. Varric says you love me, too, but I don't think he's right."

She heard him draw in a breath to speak, but she shook her head and he stopped. "I don't need you to love me," she said, making herself look up at him. "I need you to own me. My life is yours.

"I belong to you."

The impact of his hands in her shirt almost knocked her back, but he fisted his fingers in the fabric, holding her in place, and flexed. The delicate stitches that held the hooks in place parted, the hooks themselves scattering on the stone with tiny chimes.

She didn't protest. Didn't speak. That was the rule; she was quiet unless asked a direct question. Her lips curved up.

His jaw tightened, and his nostrils flared. The knot of her band came apart under his fingers, and he stripped it away from her. Hands on her hips, he yanked her close and set his mouth on her erect nipple.

Pleasure spiked through her as his lips moved, unshaved bristles scratching the tender skin of her breast. His teeth nipped, and she hissed in a breath, fighting to keep her hands at her sides.

He pulled and shoved her shirt off her shoulders, yanked it off her arms while he teased her nipple in circles of his tongue, holding it captive between his teeth. The tie of her breeches received no better treatment than her shirt had, snapped with one tug.

His hands gripped her hips and he stood, letting her slide down his body enough so he could claim her mouth. He demanded her kisses, took them from her, parting her lips with his tongue so he could taste the curve of them. Her whimpers went unheeded, ignored, as he carried her to the side of the bed and dumped her on the mattress, her head on the pillows.

He did unlace her boots, in sharp, impatient movements, pulling them off her feet and tossing them aside.

"Get them off," he said.

Evelyn lifted her hips and hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her pants, catching her smallclothes in the same motion. She even gave her hips an exaggerated wriggle as she pushed them off her, but he didn't notice. He was, she realized, too busy taking his own pants off, kicking out of his boots and leaving his clothes tangled atop hers.

Her eyes swept over his body, at the strength and control of him, the mix of hazard and safety, and she felt her insides dissolve into hot need. She sat up in one smooth flex.

"Down."

Staring up at him, she relaxed back onto the bed.

He smiled, slow, hungry, feral. " _Face_ down," he clarified.

Her eyes closed and she shuddered, unable to obey him for a heartbeat. Body, heart, mind, all understood what he wanted, what he intended, and that was almost enough. Almost.

Not quite trusting her muscles to behave as they ought, she rolled over, her hair dragging on the pillows, and started to get her hands under her.

He set his palm between her shoulder blades and pushed her back down with careless, easy strength, pinning her helpless to the bed. "Ass in the air," he said, his voice grown hoarse and rough.

Evelyn dragged her knees under her and elevated her hips, felt the bed sag as he climbed onto the mattress. His hands stroked her hips, lifted them higher, thumbs brushing across the rounded curves of her bare cheeks.

"Soft," he growled. "Every time, I forget until I touch you." His lips brushed across her skin, just above his thumbs. 

He murmured something else, something she couldn't hear through the pounding of her pulse. She closed her eyes, tried so hard to keep still, but couldn't stop her hips from shifting in his grasp as his teeth sank into the flesh of her left cheek. One of his hands moved between her thighs, his fingers finding and stroking her clit, tiny quick circles and light pressure.

Evelyn broke, her outcry muffled in the pillows. Her breasts pressed harder into the bedcovers as her hips lifted to him, offering, begging.

His fingers slid down away from her, then dug into her right hip, hard, bruising. She felt his cock brush against her and twisted her head away from the pillows to gasp for air, her mouth open, eyes closed. Her hips moved against him.

He slapped her ass. "Stay still," he said.

She whimpered, tried to comply. Her hands fisted in the covers and released, over and over, channeling her need to move, to touch, into subconscious rhythms.

Slowly, too slowly, he guided the head of his cock between her thighs, against the slick wet heat of her. 

She knew his size, had measured it with hand and mouth and tongue. An involuntary moan came from her, and she drew a fist to her mouth to quiet it. Her body tried to stretch, to open for him. She could hear his low growl as he felt her tight around the tip of him. He moved in tiny thrusts, nudging a little deeper every time.

She bit her lip, rocked back against him, and his hand landed on her again, sharp and stinging, making her yelp. "Stop, girl," he groaned. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Please, ser," she gasped. "Please hurt me."

He snarled a word she barely heard and didn't understand. Hard and fast, he thrust into her, shredding pain mingling with exultant pleasure, and she came around the head of his cock, the hard, explosive orgasm making her tighten even more. Made him pause. She bit her knuckles to choke back a scream. She wanted to move but didn't, wanted to drop but couldn't. One of his hands was clamped in an iron hold on her hip. 

He forced himself into her, making her spread for him, take every inch of him. With the head of his cock buried in her, he set both hands on her hips, fingers digging into her flesh, leverage he used to pull her back against him with every hard thrust deeper into her.

Each stroke of his cock was longer, deeper, farther out, deeper in, tearing into her until his stomach slapped her ass. Even then, he didn't pause to savor it. Instead he drove faster. Her body's resistance to him was broken; he could and did ride her, slick and hot around him. The end of each stroke shoved her face into the mattress, forcing a gasp from her, a grunt from him. 

His grunts came faster, blurring into one long groan that built. Evelyn burned. He hurt her. He filled her. He owned her. Tears wet her cheeks and she cried out his name as her orgasm rolled through her, shaking her body with helpless tremors. 

He came in her, a roar of conquest ringing in her ears. Tight as she was around him, she could feel his cock pulse inside her and she cried out again, weaker, her hands pawing at the wrinkled bedcovers. Her bones shifted under his hands as he held her tighter but she couldn't have protested if she wanted to. She was limp, drained, battered and euphoric. Her body sizzled in the aftermath, twitched and shook in random movements.

She whimpered when he slid out of her and dropped her. He fell down beside her, his right arm landing on hers. Minutes passed, hours perhaps, until she could drag her eyelids open and look at him.

He was looking over at her, still catching his breath. Beaded sweat slid down the line of his throat. 

Carefully, she licked her lips. "Vanish," she mumbled into her pillow.

He tried to laugh, but it emerged as nothing more than a huff of air. His hand flopped, then found hers and his fingers caressed her palm. "Good girl," he sighed.

She didn't want to move, but the cool air of the room felt freezing. With great reluctance, she tried to make herself edge closer to him, her body stabbing her with pain made delicious by the memory of its cause. His other arm came over her head and draped around her. She buried her nose in his side and slowly relaxed, sighing.

"Two weeks," she murmured. "I feel like I should be embarrassed that it only took you two weeks to own me."

"Ah Evelyn," he said, managing a real chuckle. "It took me two weeks to train you. I owned you from the first."


	16. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Because what good adventure doesn't have an epilogue?)

Two days later, the horses were saddled, bedrolls were packed. They would travel light; Cullen's handpicked soldiers had gone on ahead and would be ready with caches from time to time. All they had to carry were hunting supplies. Between the four of them, they could keep themselves fed and sheltered.

Josephine hurried out alongside Evelyn. "You have the letter from the duc?" she asked anxiously.

"It's in my saddlebags," she said.

"You're to show it to any of the nobles who stop you," Josephine said, sidestepping a pair of running children.

Evelyn glanced back at them and smiled. "I know, Josie."

"And don't let them tell you it's a forgery. There's a sigil in it that—"

Evelyn laughed and turned to her. "You act like you're sending your children off to war," she said. "We'll be fine, Josephine."

The Antivan ambassador sighed. "I feel like I am, too," she admitted.

Impulsively, Evelyn hugged her. "We'll send messages," she said.

Startled, Josephine nonetheless hugged her back. "Often!"

"Inquisitor! Move your ass!"

Evelyn looked across the courtyard and saw Bull standing by the horses. Blackwall was already in the saddle, Solas springing lightly astride his mount even as she watched. "Hold your horns!" she shouted back. "Just because no one's going to miss you doesn't mean I can't say goodbye to my friends!"

Josephine giggled, actually giggled. "It's shameless how you two flirt. Try to remember you're there to fight, hmm?"

By dint of extreme force of will and excellent physical conditioning, Evelyn managed to take the stairs at something like her normal brisk pace and even walked across the courtyard normally. But when she took Royeaux's reins from Master Dennet, she looked up at the horse with wary caution.

She started to raise her left foot into the stirrup and paused.

"Need a lift?" Bull asked, not bothering to disguise the smugness in his tone.

Solas hid a laugh behind a polite cough.

"I warned you two about this," Blackwall said through his beard, scowling at them from under heavy brows. "Act like damn professionals."

Ignoring the blaze of pain it caused, Evelyn lifted a foot high into the stirrup and pushed herself off the ground. She balanced there for a moment, one hand on the pommel and one on the cantle. Gingerly, and to hell with what anyone thought, she swung her leg over and bit back a yelp.

"Ah, hairy ass of the Maker," Blackwall groaned, turning his horse's head to the gate and nudging it into a walk.

Chuckles trailing behind him, Solas followed Blackwall out onto the bridge.

Evelyn managed to settle into the saddle and sighed. "Maybe I should have asked for that healing potion," she said, then repositioned herself. "Or one of those Orlesian side-saddles."

"You know what they say," Bull said, grinning up at her. "Best thing for sore muscles is more of what made 'em sore in the first place."

"They don't say that."

"They do in Par Vollen."

Fortunately, Royeaux had a very smooth trot. Though in her current state, it felt more like riding an avalanche. "Are you sure you can keep up?" she asked as Bull fell into stride alongside her.

"Better question is, can you ride hard enough to break me?"

"Look, if you two don't stop that, I'm going back to Skyhold and you can damn well manage without me!"

"Sorry, Blackwall."

"Warden Crybaby."

"And I suppose you can just take on the whole army by yourself then, Qunari?"

"Looks like I might have to, if your delicate sensibilities make you swoon and fall off your pony."

Evelyn started to interrupt their bickering, but just across the bridge, something caught her eye. There, guarding the chasm, was the battered snowman, a bit the worse for wear. The red bandana was gone, but a guard's helmet had taken its place. Around him, surrounding him, stretching out into the patchy snowfield, were other snowmen. Some tall, some tiny, all with their backs to the divide. Hundreds of them.

With a whoop, Evelyn sent Royeaux into a gallop, snow flying up from his hooves as he barreled past the others.

"Inquisitor?" Solas called.

"I'm off to save the world!" she yelled back. "Are you lot coming or what?"


End file.
